Rather Unexpected
by Cyprith
Summary: What happens when a self serving, power hungry Telvanni meets a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood? A seduction, a power struggle, a butting of heads... and the eventual realization there's far more floating just beneath the surface.
1. Chapter One

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x OFC

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Summary: Lucien wasn't expecting to find his client's body hanging from the rafters. He certainly wasn't expecting to find his mark waiting for him in the bath. And despite himself, Lucien couldn't help but be intrigued.

Author's Note: Whee! Pheonica is helping with this like wow. A great many of the ideas here are/will be hers. Because we are seriously teh awesome.

* * *

Generally, Lucien liked Bosmers. But not this one. He was a wretched little mer— shifty eyed and fidgety, blaming his wife for his own inability to keep her.

"This isn't something I trust to just anyone," he said and Lucien resisted the urge to strangle him. Strangling clients tended to be bad for business, after all.

"I assure you, it will not be a problem. One of our family will… see to her immediately."

But the elf shook his head, glancing at the door to their borrowed room in the Inn of Ill Omen.

"You don't understand."

"So inform me," Lucien smirked, leaning back. "Lovers' spats are nothing unusual."

The mer shook his head again and stood up angrily to pace the room.

"She has a harem of _interesting characters_, she calls them. Her _little friends_. I should have suspected something when—" he bit down hard on the rest of the sentence, turning to face Lucien. "She's _dangerous._ The worst enemy you could ever make."

Lucien shrugged, nonchalant, but found himself the slightest bit intrigued.

"She's only a woman," he said, standing. "Fragile. Her strength lies in her allies. Take those away and…" he smiled, breaking the stem of his wine glass between his fingers with a sharp _snap_. "It's a simple matter of pressure."

But the Bosmer only crossed his arms, looking unimpressed and more than a little concerned.

"You don't understand. I didn't expect you to. But know that it is _imperative_ you send someone skilled. I can guarantee there will be no second chance with her."

Lucien smiled. There was something foolishly earnest in the mer's eyes. Whether his wife was truly a danger or not was unclear, but it was obvious he believed what he said. Perhaps this woman of his would prove to a challenge. Or at the very least _amusing_. And there was that business in Chorral he'd been avoiding for the past week.

"I sincerely doubt one Bosmer woman will pose that much of a threat."

Strangely enough, the mer laughed, sounding close to tears.

"Bosmer? If only she were, I'd not be in half so much trouble. No, she's a Dunmer, sir. A Telvanni." He sat down heavily, head in his hands. "As I said. _Dangerous_."

Oh, yes. Lucien would certainly be taking care of this one himself.

* * *

Two days later, when he'd finally managed a sufficient dent in his stack of paperwork and couldn't stand the thought of writing one more word, Lucien gave up. Standing, he strode away from his desk to stretch, thinking of the Telvanni contract. He sincerely doubted the woman was going to be remotely challenging, Telvanni or no. But a man could hope. Sithis knew it'd been years since he'd gotten his hands properly dirty. Everything was so… _similar_ lately.

Sighing, he waged a quick and futile search for the ribbon he used to tie his hair, remembering belatedly he'd set it on fire an hour ago in a fit of frustration.

"Not my day," he muttered to himself, looking for another.

He knew better. Because he'd forgotten to close the grate the day before last and the guardians had gotten in. For some strange reason, they had a tendency to wander off with certain smallish things like his quills and razors… and his hair ribbons. Which didn't make any sense to him in the slightest, but as it was rather difficult to question the reanimated dead…

Lucien shook his head, trying to keep on task. Hours of paperwork always tended to make him a bit scatterbrained. Which was never the best preparation for a contract, but it _was_ only a woman, and he very much doubted she was as bad as her Bosmer seemed to think. She'd probably threatened him with a vase. Or else one of her lovers had. Neither situation sounded as though it'd pose much of a threat.

Cursing over the fact it'd been five minutes and he _still_ couldn't find so much as a bit of string, Lucien rifled through his chest for an old shirt and ripped off the hem. He intended to get _filthy_. If things were going his way, he'd even have a bit of a fight. And while he assumed it would deal mostly with the throwing of pottery, he did _not_ want his hair in his eyes.

Smoothing down his hair in the mirror, Lucien turned and searched his desk for the contract. Which was, of course, missing. Deciding at last that he'd do just as well without it, he stalked outside and whistled for his horse.

* * *

He was early. Gadayn had mentioned that he'd be safely out of town on "business" in three days time and that if his leaving and Lucien's arrival coordinated exactly, she would be alone in the house. Any more than a few hours, he'd warned, and she'd have the house filled with her numerous _pets_.

Lucien paused in the street, making sure to keep his back to the wall as he looked up at the open window above him.

His mark was _singing_.

Not remarkably well, mind you, but singing nonetheless. Slipping his skeleton key from his pocket, Lucien grinned and strode for the door… Only to find it already unlocked.

He certainly hadn't expected that.

Lucien paused, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he remembered what it was Gadayn had said. She was the worst enemy a man could make— dangerously clever, powerful, _Telvanni_. In his experience, they tended to be a rather wicked, underhanded group. Take what can be taken, claw your way to the top, don't look back sort of people.

It was possible he had not been foolish in fearing his wife.

It was also possible she had discovered what it was he'd planned and exactly what sort of _business_ he was meeting on and had taken matters into her own hands. Lucien smiled and very slowly stepped away from the door.

He walked down the street instead, slipping into his chameleon spell as he rounded the corner before turning back into an alleyway to find if anyone had noticed the stranger's sudden disappearance.

No one at all.

Lucien grinned and ran back to the house, making his way around its boundaries, peering in through the windows. He could see nothing amiss, which meant one of two things.

One, this was a working example of a Telvanni being dangerously clever.

Or two, this was a woman who often left the door to her home unlocked without so much as a paranoid Bosmer to guard her.

Lucien, desperately wishing for a bit of amusement, prayed to Sithis this was an instance of the first and gently easing open the window, stepped inside.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Not a trap, not a body or a bloodied handprint on the wall. Hell, there wasn't even so much as a broken shard of pottery. _Nothing_ had happened here save for the fact that some insane Bosmer had sent him off to kill his wife, and Lucien, in his desperation had believed it when the mer said she was _dangerous_.

Angry now that he'd allowed himself to fall for such a stupid trick, Lucien stalked over to the door to see if this, at least, was trapped.

And then he remembered exactly what it was to be Telvanni, and exactly what it was he'd forgotten. Freezing in his tracks, Lucien looked _up_.

There, bound to the rafters of the dining room, was his client. Not a drop of blood to be found but it was obvious by the awkward angle of his head, tied by ropes as it was, that the mer's neck was broken. His hands had been frozen by frost or lingering paralysis into holding a sign. Carefully keeping his distance, Lucien crept around in a wide circle until he could just make out the words carved into the wood.

_**BEWARE. HERE BE DRAGONS.**_

Lucien grinned. This was perfect. Absolutely magnificent. More than he ever could have hoped for. Not only was he dealing with an immensely clever, heartless, calculating woman, but a woman who had recently committed a rather brilliant murder. Which meant that if even if he _didn't_ get his fight, he was about to recruit a new murderer that would no doubt turn out to be one of their best.

Without so much as a whisper of leather on stone, Lucien crept up the stairs, following the sound of the woman's singing. The fact that she _was_ singing, with the doors and windows of her house open, a dead body tied to her ceiling delighted him. It'd been _ages_ since he'd found anyone like this.

Well… there had been Antoinetta, he realized with a sinking heart. Granted, he'd found her in the gutter, but her murder had been very clever as well, and she'd turned out to be insane. Great lot of good that would do him. Both of his last two recruits had been a bit off and Uvani was beginning to _imply_ things.

Deciding that if this woman was as mad as the rest, she was about to have an unfortunate accident regardless of her skill, Lucien unlocked the door and strode inside.

He found his mark lounging in a large copper tub, covered in scented bubbles and looking entirely unimpressed with his grand entrance.

"Oh, hello," she said, sounding rather disappointed as she twirled a wet strand of dark red hair between her fingers. "You're early. I wasn't expecting you for hours yet."

"Well," Lucien smirked, eyes following the curve of her leg, arched over the lip of the tub. "Had I known I had an appointment I may have endeavored to keep it."

She rolled her eyes and picked up her book from the floor before leaning back in the water.

"Well, I don't intend on finishing for an hour yet, so you'll simply have to wait."

"Really?" he cocked his head to the side, arching a perfect brow as he stared her in the eyes. "I think you'll change your mind when you hear what it is I have to propose."

But the fetching Dunmer didn't even have the grace to look _interested_. She pursed her lips and waved him off, frowning out the window as though she were expecting someone else.

"Don't bother wasting your time, sweetheart," she said without so much as a glance his way.

Lucien kept his face neutral, though inside his thoughts were flying. A _beautiful_, immensely clever, heartless, and calculating woman was exactly what he needed to show up that idiot Uvani. He _had_ to have her. But what did one say to convince such a woman when it was obvious she couldn't care less

"Waiting for someone?"

"Yes and no," she said at last, frowning. "_Are_ you the man Gadayn hired to kill me?"

Lucien smiled.

"I am. But seeing as how you've already taken care of my… employer, allow me to extend to you my _invitation_."

"Oh, bugger all!" she snapped suddenly, throwing down her book and standing up. "I wanted the _Dunmer_."

And Lucien had never been more depressed upon seeing a dripping, naked, succubus of a woman.

Damn Uvani…


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Fear my random theft of Pheonicia's sand! Muahahaha!

* * *

"Gods damnit," she seethed, storming across the room naked for her towel. "That's just like him, the little fetcher. Get an _Imperial_ to do it. Bloody hell. If he weren't already dead, I'd nail his head to something."

She tucked her towel in place, still glaring, angry color flaring high on her cheeks.

"Except knowing him, he'd just _have_ to make a mess. Fetching Bosmer. Don't know why I bloody well married him. _Idiot_."

Lucien wasn't quite sure what to do. She obviously wasn't speaking to him, but as he'd never actually found himself confronted with an angry woman who'd been attempting to seduce his colleague when he showed up, he wasn't quite certain how to handle the situation.

Re-extending his offer seemed idiotic, and he was fairly certain offering to… make up for Uvani's absence wouldn't go over well either. But then, the fact that she'd known about Uvani in the first place didn't sit well with him.

"Obviously, you know of us," he said, abandoning subtly for blunt tact.

"Oh, yes. I know of you," she snapped, glaring his way as she snatched the brush off the table, furiously running it through her hair. "And no, I'd rather not revel in death and the glory of Sithis, or whatever it is you run about asking people, thanks."

"Fair enough," he said, with a short nod of the head.

When he'd asked Sithis for a fight, he had _not_ meant an argument.

"Complete waste of time," she spat, shaking her head as she brushed. "Just like him. Just bloody like him. Should have known."

"_Where_ did you hear of us, exactly?" Lucien asked, moving forward.

She shrugged and set down the brush, moving to open the wardrobe.

"Oh, I've friends everywhere. Great lot of good it does when they tell me the only Speaker in the area is a Dunmer."

"Generally speaking, Speakers don't execute their own contracts." Lucien smirked. "What makes you think you warrant such a visit?"

She gave him a _look_.

"Well, you're here, aren't you? That should answer your question well enough. Stupid fetching Bosmer. Look at this," she said, pulling a white linen dress from the armoire. "I was going to _wear_ this tonight. It would have been absolutely _perfect_. But no. Of course not. Gadayn just couldn't be considerate about it."

She turned, glaring at him.

"Didn't you just _hate_ him? He was horrible. I hated his nose the most. Crooked as a scrib. Of course, I told him he was just _perfect_ the way he was. But that was because he was a crooked little man with a crooked little ego."

Lucien blinked, watching her go on, not sure if she were talking to him at all at this point.

"You know what you've got and what you haven't, yes?" she asked, glancing back at him. "You're not going to go about crowing about your amazing sexual prowess when you're obviously so… _Imperial_. You'll be delicate about it and say you're a wonderful conversationalist or something inane like that."

Shaking her head, she waved a hand as if clearing the air.

"Doesn't matter. I shall wear the dress anyway. What do you think?"

Lucien laughed, wondering just who the hell this woman _was_ and where that poor Bosmer had found her.

"Wear the blue," he said, smirking as he circled around her, a good distance off. "It will distract attention from your face."

The Dumner turned, cocking an eyebrow.

"You're calling me unattractive?"

"Of course not," he purred. "Merely suggesting that you may wish to enhance what few assets you possess."

But she waved him off with a purse of the lips.

"That's absolutely ridiculous. Ugly people don't make friends." And then she smiled, good humor restored as she slipped into what looked like a corset. "Have you any friends then, dear?"

Lucien snorted.

"It may have escaped your notice, _darling_, but in my line of work, friends are a liability."

Which was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, as she started laughing a moment later. And Lucien wondered if she hadn't meant something entirely different when she spoke of _friends_.

"As lovely as this has been, yours is not the only business I must attend to today," he snapped, impatient with this conversation and moving towards the door. "Until we meet again, madam."

"Hanarai," she said with an off-handed wave of the hand, the other holding the white dress up to her neck in the mirror. "Though I doubt you'll need remember it."

* * *

Hanarai glared at her husband as she passed beneath him, collecting her things. All told, while the murderer had been rather amusing for a moment, she had long since grown out of such things. Also, he _had_ been rather predictable.

"That was very childish of you, hiring someone," she announced, not knowing if Gadayn was still lurking about, but wanting to have it said. "You'd think at your age we could have _talked_ about it. But instead, you sulked and lashed out."

She paused in her placing of soul gems into a watermelon sized leather bag.

"No. You didn't quite manage that, even. You simply _tattled_. No one likes a snitch and I am very upset with you." She sniffed decisively, before shoving one of his shirts in between the crystals for padding. He'd always hated it when she used his clothing to wipe up messes or keep the pottery from breaking.

"You shouldn't have left it lying about," she said, just as she always did, and in the silence that followed decided she'd miss the crooked little mer a little.

There had been someone wonderful arguments between them, after all.

But really, it was entirely his own fault. And she wouldn't miss his heaps of cast off clothing and his nasty habits, or how he preformed horribly before sprawling over _her_ side of the bed. His talk of massive hoards of children had been rather disturbing as well. Especially as how in these fantasies of his, it had sounded as though _she'd_ be the one doing all the work.

Not that it mattered. He was dead and tied to the ceiling. A useless little bugger in life, perhaps now at least he'd serve some purpose.

"I'm off to visit friends," she called up to him as she walked past to put away the silver, not wanting to tempt any thieves. "And if you absolutely _must_ stink up the house, please don't ooze on the carpet. I _despise_ cleaning up after you, and the _least_ you could do after hiring the wrong murderer is contain yourself until I return."

She shook her head, smiling to herself as she collected her bag of clothing from the floor.

"You know, this is the last mess of yours I'll ever have to clean up. What a cheerful thought! But honestly," and here she stopped under him to stare him dead in the scrib-crooked nose. "You weren't the least bit clever about hiding it. You _must_ have known what was coming."

And with that, she shouldered her bags and strode from the house a billowing, beautiful cloud of white and ebon-sky gray.

* * *

Lucien was lost in thought as he took his horse from the stable hand— a Dunmer woman with a rather unfortunate skin condition he hadn't noticed when he rode in. He'd stayed just long enough to watch Hanarai leave in a cloud of too much cloth and still damp hair. She was a ridiculous woman. Not quite mad, but neither was he entirely certain she was _sane_. After all, who killed and tied one's husband to the ceiling? Had she merely killed him, she could simply explain it to the guards as a crime of passion, self defense, or…

He stopped, realizing exactly why she had done it. Because who would suspect poor, sweet Hanarai of such a heinous thing? Self-defense, passion, those they could envision. But to tie him to the _ceiling_? How would she get up there? And with a body? How could she _lift_ him?

Smiling to himself, Lucien chuckled as he steered Shadowmere away from the road. So the Bosmer had been right. She was extremely clever. For even if she'd been caught bathing in that house with her husband bound to the rafters, they'd believe a brilliant, psychotic killer was running loose before they blamed _her_.

He had no doubt she could make herself look small and terrified. With a talent like hers for acting it wouldn't take much. Hell, she'd even managed to captivate him the moment he stepped through that door and _rarely_ did Lucien find himself with a taste for elves.

The worst enemy you could ever make... He almost believed it. But then her husband had never actually met Ungolim.

Lucien almost laughed at the comparison. Short, squat troll of a Bosmer beside a tall, exotic seductress of a Dunmer. Then again, it was possible they'd find each other attractive. Hanarai _had_ married a none-too-attractive Bosmer after all. For a moment Lucien entertained thoughts of introducing them, but discarded the idea. He doubted he could manage that irritating woman long enough to keep her still a moment, let alone herd her into Bravil. Add to that he wasn't immensely fond of Ungolim, never mind the distraction she'd no doubt provide would get the wretched little mer off his back for a week or two at least.

Lucien stopped.

Actually, that was a _brilliant_ idea.

* * *

Hanarai sang to herself as she sauntered down the street, the lovely Dunmer boy she'd found to carry her bags trotting close at hand. Today was actually quite a lovely day, she decided, that horrid business with the Imperial aside. Not only was she rid of Gadayn for good, but she had the house and the money all to herself. Which wasn't to say she didn't have loads of her own. She'd never heard of a poor Telvanni. Except of course her fool of a sister, but Hanarai rather suspected she was a bit… addled.

She was going shopping, she decided. There was an Orc merchant in Cheydinhal with surprisingly good sense. A great majority of her goods were imported from Morrowind. Granted, they _were_ expensive, but she deserved something in celebration. After all, it wasn't every day one finally managed to remove a Bosmer shaped growth from one's hip.

"Be a dear and saddle my horse, love?" she asked the Dunmer boy as they pressed through the gates. "I can never manage to tie down my bags properly myself and they always end up flying off."

At the mere threat of a sad glimmer in her eye, the young mer leapt into action.

"It's no trouble at all, miss. I'll have it done in a second. If you like, I can even show you."

"That would be marvelous," she said with a sweet smile. The boy really was quite cute, falling over himself for her. She almost laughed as she remembered the scuffle that had ensued between the small group of boys when she'd asked if there was one that would be willing to help her.

Pretending to watch intently as he showed her where the straps and ties went, Hanarai mused on her morning. She'd _expected_ to be out of the bath and into that lovely white dress when her murderer showed up. A pity he'd come early, but it really was no matter. Only an Imperial. They were always gone so fast anyway. Born and dead in the blink of an eye.

Nodding in what she assumed to be the right place, she clapped her hands and grinned.

"Oh, I think I've gotten it now! Thank you!"

And jumping up onto her toes, she surprised him with a kiss on the cheek before springing into the saddle.

Today was definitely a lovely day.


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Lucien realized somewhere between Chorrol and the Imperial City that he was being followed. 

Actually, _followed_ was a bit paranoid.

There was simply someone on the road, pointed in the same direction as he was, making note of all the signs that said _**Cheydinhal**_ and randomly peering between the trees as if looking for someone vaguely man shaped atop a horse. Normally, such a thing wouldn't have bothered him, but what with the recent "unfortunate accidents" sprawling throughout his corner of the guild, he was a bit edgy.

Slowly, he turned Shadowmere in her tracks and scanned the road below him. The figure faded in and out of sight, weaving with the road. From what he could tell, the horse was definitely a chestnut from the North Country Stables, fast enough though certainly no choice for an assassin.

Lucien paused, frowning as he waited for the figure to crest the hill again.

_She_ was wearing white— a dress that billowed out behind her as the horse ran.

Cursing silently and trying very hard not to grit his teeth, Lucien tried to discern why in the nine hells his mark would be _following him._

* * *

Hanarai glared up the road, eyes on the dark horseman ahead of her. He had been moving quickly before and she'd decided it was possible they were simply headed in the same direction. But then he'd begun turning back to watch her. 

"Why are you following me, you fetcher?" she growled, glaring at the shimmering forms of the man and his horse.

And then he stopped, far back from the road, but close enough to the edge of the hill to watch her. Hanarai pursed her lips and stared intently between the trees, willing her detect life spell to show her a bit more of his face.

When she realized who it was, she nearly laughed aloud.

Leave it to Gadayn to pick an _Imperial_ that would follow her like a lost dog.

Shaking her head with a sad little laugh, Hanarai proceeded to ignore him. Hopefully he'd get the hint. Though she doubted it. In her experience, humans tended to be a bit obtuse about such things.

* * *

It was entirely possible she was simply on her way to the Imperial City, Lucien told himself, watching her approach. It had nothing at all to do with him. If he liked, he could spur Shadowmere on and _fly_ to Cheydinhal. Even if she were following him, there was no way she'd be able to catch up. 

Unfortunately, it felt too much like running, and so Lucien stayed in place, torn between confrontation and being on his way. But the woman certainly didn't seem interested with him at all. In fact, she looked almost… disgusted, and her attention ranged only so far as to read the signs.

She was certainly no assassin then. Satisfied finally, he turned Shadowmere onto the road and spurred her into a full out gallop. He was tired of weaving between the trees for secrecy. If someone saw him, so be it. He had murders, murderers and paperwork to attend to, after all.

* * *

Hanarai watched with some satisfaction as the assassin turned his horse and rode off. Either he'd taken the hint, which she very much doubted, or else she'd rather accidentally met his eyes and startled him off. It didn't matter in the long run. She was pleased enough to see the back of him. To be honest, she absolutely hated it when men of his ilk decided to _win_ her. Their ridiculous attempts were embarrassing and usually led to some sort of violent end. More often than not at the hands of her friends. 

And she _hated_ involving them in such things.

Unless it happened to be her friend from the Fighter's Guild, in which case he thoroughly enjoyed beating sense into his rivals. She laughed, remembering the time Modryn had physically thrown that idiot Breton from the Fighters Guild hall. Granted, it hadn't been the best decision to visit him there, but she'd been feeling wonderfully lonely with Gadayn out on business and the mer had been only too happy to be _discreet. _

Something about rumors enhancing reputations more than facts. She'd been… otherwise occupied at that point and paying attention had been out of the question.

Cheerful once more with the parade of fond memories, Hanarai hummed to herself as she rode on, wondering if it would be possible to read her unopened correspondence and steer the horse without getting intensely motion sick.

* * *

By the time Lucien had reached Aleswell there was no sign of the crazed Dunmer behind him. Either she'd gone her own way, or else he'd left her far behind. Either way, if she were honestly following him, no doubt she'd have hired a stronger, faster horse. 

Laughing at himself for being so bloody paranoid, Lucien moved on, dreading the workload he'd have when he returned.

Coming out to Chorral had been absolutely ridiculous. Not only had he missed what few hours of sleep he managed lately, but to be honest he'd come for no reason at all.

"Should have killed her anyway," he murmured to himself. "That was the bloody _point_."

He'd been looking forward to it too. The entire way he'd been plotting, imagining what he could do, how he could frighten her, how he could kill her. But once he'd got there…

It must have been the threat of power. Or the fact that she could morph into whatever it was you wanted. There wasn't a doubt in his mind the rider had been her. And yet he _knew_ first hand Hanarai had quite a bit more in the chest region than was readily visible. Apparently whoever it was she was riding off to was rather more fond of waiflike fey than actual, full figured women.

Not that Lucien cared at all. He simply liked his women unfettered. And having first hand knowledge of exactly what Hanarai looked like unfettered…

Well, it was simply a shame to have that sort of natural asset go unappreciated.

Yawning, Lucien frowned and focused harder on the task at hand. Paper work and murderers be damned. He hadn't slept in nearly two days.

* * *

Cheydinhal was such a pretty city. Hanarai loved the white washed houses with their cute little iron wrought fences. They were just so lovely. If it hadn't been for her pet idiot, she'd have taken up a house here. But as he was so touchingly attached to Chorrol, she'd let him have his way. At least she had a few dear friends here that wouldn't be object to helping her. 

Though it would take quite a bit of planning.

There was no way in hell she was going to spend the night much less the duration of her holiday in one of those filthy, noisy, Imperial run inns. She intended on staying in Riverview. Which meant that the day was going to take a bit of planning.

Planning that involved buying a room at the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn anyway.

It took less than fifteen minutes to procure the room, the Imperial woman touchingly flattered to have an apparently rich Dunmer staying at her inn.

Hanarai sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, intending to read through her letters before bouncing off to visit, nearly the entire reason she'd paid for the room in the first place. It wouldn't do, after all, to be seen too soon after arriving. It would appear as though she had nothing better to do. And the last thing she needed was to look _desperate_.

Pulling a letter of her sister's from the small leather bag devoted entirely to her correspondence, she leaned back against the wall and curling her legs under her, began to read.

* * *

_**Hanarai,**_

_**As usual, I hope this finds you in good health. I'm feeling a bit under the weather, as it were. Not so much an actual sickness as it is a general ache and melancholy. I'm sure you've heard. The city of Vivec separated from the mainland in the night. **_

_**Oh, I've never seen so much panic. Like rats from a ship. At first everyone thought it was just a simple break in the bridge. Those things happen all the time when the waters rise too high or the winter ice melts early. Everyone thought the men on the bridge were simply doing routine repairs. **_

_**Praise the gods for Etienne. Had he not insisted on loading the boat, we'd never have made it out. There were hundreds of people that didn't. Those asleep or old, or simply unwary. They say there was no damage to the cantons themselves. That they should float as they always have. Some are even saying that it was Vivec who broke the ties to the mainland and forced them off and into the tides. Gods help us, it seems like the whole world has gone mad.**_

_**I hate to be the one to tell you this, but as far as we can tell, Eno never made it out. I suppose it's possible he's simply keeping quiet as usual, but we've not heard a word from him. He's been such a help lately and to suddenly be without him…**_

_**I don't know what to say, really. I feel so stupid. Staring at people with my head full of rocks, as father would say. I hope you're finding better fortune Cyrodill. Etienne and I…**_

_**Etienne's lost his job, obviously, with the cantons drifting gods only know where. Money is tight, and everything seems so hopeless. How miserable to bring a child into a world so recently painted black.**_

_**Your loving sister,**_

_**Narice**_

* * *

Hanarai frowned at the letter. It certainly hadn't been what she was expecting. Narice's last letter had been so cheerful, full of life and promise with the new child on the way. 

Child…

The thought was still foreign to her. The fact that soon she would have a niece to look after. Vaguely, Hanarai smiled. She liked children well enough. As long as they belonged to someone else anyway. It was Etienne that made her uncomfortable— Narice's slight mention of him, before she'd trailed off and scratched it out.

Toying with the strand of hair curling around her ear, Hanarai sent a tendril of telekinesis into one of her bags, drawing out her stack of paper and its bottle of ink.

* * *

**_Narice,_**

**_I'm sorry to hear it. Eno and I had a falling out some time ago, however, so I cannot say as I care overmuch what happens to the bastard. Father's advice was best, I think. Never trust a member of another house._**

**_And so I cannot help but remind you that had you listened to Father's advice, money would not be tight, and you'd be safely married to someone appropriately rich and powerful. You knew he hated Etienne. It wasn't as though he made a secret of it._**

**_Now, I'm sure he is very sweet when he wants to be, Nar, but I've seen men of his ilk countless times. I'd wager this child of yours has him scared. He was expecting this marriage to be a passing thing but now you've tied him down._**

**_Ah, perhaps it is a pity to hear Eno's wandered off again. He could have been of some help. And you and he did remain good friends, didn't you?_**

**_But let's be done with all this unpleasantness. I'm sure you'll manage things as you always have, and all will be well. I have news of my own as well. You'll remember I told you of the number of odd things Gadayn was collecting? Well, I was absolutely right to be concerned. A murderer showed up this morning. I had expected it to be the rather attractive Dunmer that wanders through on "business" every now and again as Ricot was under the impression that Chorral was under his control._**

**_Which makes me wonder why the Imperial Speaker showed up. Not only that, but he was distastefully early. Barged in just as I was having my bath. Incredibly annoying, trying little man. Though I suppose he would be considered handsome for an Imperial. You would like him. He was your sort of boy, if a little dull._**

**_Anyway, all things told he finally wandered off. But now I find he's following me. Which is absolutely insane, really, but I suppose barging in on a poor woman having her bath could do that to a man. Hopefully he's not one of those idiots that does everything for love._**

**_Which reminds me, I'm in Cheydinhal at the moment. Visiting, of course. Think I may take up a house here now that Gadayn's gone and gotten himself killed. I've all that money and nothing to do with it. I shall write to father next, I think. He'll be pleased. Oh dear. I've gone and lost my train of thought._**

**_Ah, yes! Would you like me to send anything while I'm here? Chocolates? Trinkets? Large, consolatory dresses for your growing belly? Tiny, sweet dresses for the soon-to-be wee one?_**

**_With love,_**

**_Hanarai_**

**_P.S. You know, aunt makes me sound so ancient. I absolutely refuse to be called by it under any circumstances. We shall simply have to think of something else. What's the Bosmeri word for auntie, I wonder…_**


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Pheonicia is amazing. .

* * *

Generally speaking, Hanarai didn't like other women. Not only because actively putting yourself in a position to be directly compared with your competition was idiotic, but somehow they always managed to rub her the wrong way. Deetsan was no exception. In fact, she was possibly the most irritating woman she'd been forced to deal with today. 

"Is Falcar in?" she asked sweetly, smiling in hopes of getting the conversation over with sooner.

But apparently a simple one-word answer was beyond the fetching lizard.

"What business do you have with him?" she asked with a frown. "Not a recommendation, I hope."

"No, madam, I don't intend on joining your guild." Working hard to keep her face carefully neutral, Hanarai continued, "I simply came to visit. Is Falcar in?"

"Were you invited?" This with a concern that didn't match the occasion. But before Hanarai could pry into it, she felt a hand on her shoulder and the press of heat as someone very tall drew close.

"Are you so incapable of answering even the simplest of questions, mage?"

"My apologies, head magister," she said with a short bow of the head. "I had merely thought—"

Falcar snorted.

"I sincerely doubt that." And then he turned to face Hanarai, a quirk of a smile hidden in one corner of his mouth. "Tea?"

* * *

"He's dead, I take it?" Falcar asked as soon as they'd reached the privacy of his rooms. 

"Of course."

Hanarai smiled, and moved to sit on the bed in a cloud of white, watching as Falcar went about heating the water— a fire sitting carefully in the curve of his hand, teapot hovering just above.

"I don't suppose you've brought the body with you?" he asked with that odd quirk of a smile. "We're having a bit of a shortage, as it were."

"Oh, I heard," she said with a frown as she took her tea. "That idiot Breton's ban on Necromancy? It's absurd. I know for a fact he practiced it himself."

Falcar snorted.

"He _admits_ it! Knows its dangers first hand, he says."

"But only in certain company, of course," Hanarai said with a roll of the eyes, blowing frost over the surface of her tea.

"No matter," the Altmer said with a wave of the hand, sitting down opposite her. "You didn't come here to be regaled with Traven's latest idiocies. Though out of curiosity, what did you do with the body?"

Hanarai grinned, looking utterly mischievous.

"I'm sure I don't know _how_ he managed to get up on the ceiling," she said with an airy gesture. "And with that sign in his hands? Certainly an odd way to kill oneself. But you know how Bosmer are."

The High Elf nearly spilled his tea over the bed, laughing.

"You tied him to the _ceiling_?"

"I admit to nothing," she said with a grin that showed charmingly crooked teeth. "But enough of this. What project has you so busy that you're forgoing wine?"

Falcar sighed, leaning back.

"If I could relax a moment we'd have wine and more, my love. As it is, the members of this guild hall have me a bit on edge."

"I wouldn't worry about them," she said with a frown. "They're idiots. That Argonian in the main hall nearly drove me mad."

"My apologies," he said, eyeing the teapot as it floated towards him. "I hope she didn't keep you long."

"No, not so very long." Hanarai smirked at having gotten an apology where none was needed. "It's simply her _voice_."

"Yes. I know." Falcar smiled but there was no real humor to it. "To be honest, she's the one that has me on edge. She's begun asking questions."

"Ah, but are they the _right_ ones?"

"Close enough."

"No such thing," she said with a dismissive wave. "They are or they aren't. What's happened?"

"That fool Nord."

"Oh, no. Not the one you were so excited about?" Hanarai asked, looking crestfallen. "Falkun? Vidiun?"

"Something of the sort, yes." He frowned off at the wall, lips pressed into a thin line. "Deetsan is sticking her nose into things again. Wonders where he's gotten off to. Won't believe he simply _gave up_."

"Wasn't he the one that only talked in single syllables?" Hanarai laughed. "He very well could have given up. It's not as though he could pronounce _confused_."

"She seems to think he _drowned_," he said with faux horror, imitating the Argonian's reaction.

Hanarai laughed.

"Have you sent someone else after your ring?"

Slowly, Falcar smiled.

"I should send _her_ after it. You think she would refuse a direct order?"

"I think the others would begin to suspect if _she_ didn't return."

"Well, yes. There's that. But I could manage the others with a word. They've not begun questioning things."

Frowning, Hanarai leaned back and watched the other mer. He was keeping something from her. It was there in his eyes, and the way he tended to speak to his tea rather than her.

"Oh, dear," she said, picking her words carefully. "You look absolutely wretched. There's more, isn't there?"

He shrugged.

"I've a body to fish from the well, dispose of and reclaim. Never mind my… superiors are rather _displeased_ with current events."

"Obviously. To be honest, I don't see why the Mages' Guild is so ornery about all this. It's not as though you've left their souls inside the bodies." She paused, thinking. "Well, I suppose the diseases could be a bit of a problem, but there's nothing wrong with giving the temples a bit of business. Besides, it's really only humans that fall prey to them anyway, and they bounce back fast. They have to," she said with a laugh, thinking of that silly little Imperial murderer running about with witless pox or something equally vile.

Falcar smiled, finishing his second cup of tea.

"You seem in a fine humor today."

"Is it any surprise?" she laughed. "Though I am sorry you have no good news. I always hate to hear when you're having a horrible time of it."

"There is some good news, actually."

"Oh?" she perked a bit at that. Good news was usually incredibly useful.

"I took your advice actually," he said with a smile as he rose from the bed. "It's useless wasting away here if I cannot even make good use of my time. So I went looking for a place to conduct my larger experiments and found a beautiful ruin just East of town I think you might be interested in."

"Ayleid?" Hanarai asked eagerly and in earnest this time. She _adored_ Ayleid ruins as they were nearly always filled with glowing stones and just now, she had quite a lovely collection started.

"No. Simply an old fort. But walking past I'm _sure_ I heard a certain creaking from inside."

Laughing, Hanarai clapped her hands. Generally speaking, creaking meant ponderous undead things. And where there were undead walking about, there were usually dark guardians.

"Just east of the gate? How far? Oh, if I weren't off to visit Voranil I'd be half way there already."

Falcar stopped in front of the door, his good humor evaporating.

"Voranil? What business do you have with him?"

Hanarai smiled sweetly. It was good not to let any one conquest become too complacent. In her experience, she found a hint of jealousy fueled men rather nicely.

"Oh, I simply haven't seen him in _ages_. He sent me a lovely letter a few weeks back and I misplaced it before I could properly reply. You know how I am about such things."

She was meticulous, actually. Every letter she wrote got sorted into a neat little stack with a different color ribbon depending on how long she'd delay before sending it off with a messenger.

Falcar shook his head, still frowning.

"He's a drug addled old mer. Dangerous."

But she waved him off, laughing as she stood. Dangerous. _She_ was dangerous. An aging mer with a fondness for sex and sweets was _not_ by any means dangerous.

"He's a sweetheart. He simply has a few bad habits. As do we all."

Falcar smirked, an eyebrow cocked.

"_My_ bad habits generally don't involve attempting to melt my own brain."

"Ah, but you do have a nasty tendency of getting caught with corpses."

Laughing, the mer conceded and stepped aside.

"I'm only asking you to be careful."

Hanarai grinned, pulling open the heavy oak door.

"I always am."

And once again she was gone in a cloud of white.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Pretend Voranil actually _has_ a guest room.

* * *

Returning to her room in the inn, Hanarai rummaged through her carefully packed bags, looking for something more appropriate. She'd come here in white knowing she would be visiting Falcar first. But as Voranil's tastes ran almost directly opposite the younger mer's she needed something a bit more… striking.

"That won't do," she muttered to herself, pulling out the blue dress and setting it aside. It only worked when she intended on making herself up. Without a bit of powder on her face, she simply looked like a vaguely feminine blot of ink.

"Yellow?"

Pulling the simple yellow dress from the bag, she moved to stand in front of the impossibly small mirror that had come with the room.

"Elegant," she murmured, before slipping it on to see exactly how much cleavage would be readily available.

Not enough.

Frowning, she pulled it off, hoping she'd brought _something_ she could be seen in. Hanarai moved back to her bag, untying the strings of her binder-corset in favor of simple cloth underwear. No point in being bound or enhanced any more than was absolutely necessary, after all.

But even this delay didn't help much. Hanarai remained staring at her bag, imagining and rejecting the image of herself in each dress. One thing Gadayn had always been good for was picking out her clothing. He had a knack for it, which was likely why he'd done so well in the trade business and made such a fortune.

Smiling now, at a few fond memories, she sat down on the bed and wondered what Gadayn would have chosen.

The white dress, certainly, but she'd worn it already. So _what_ exactly did that leave?

Well… there was that lovely green that made her look as though she was dressed in fallen leaves. But did she really want to come back to the inn to change _again_ before making her way up to that old fort?

Hanarai grinned and sprang from the bed. She knew what Gadayn would pick in this case. For there was a lovely pair of soft leather breeches in that bag, the cloth worn a sort of ruddy brown. Also, she was positive she had one of Modryn's tunics with her.

Singing to herself as she dressed, Hanarai pulled out her pair of leather boots and slipped them on before fishing about in her pack for a hat.

_Perfect_.

A moment later she was laughing as she flew from the room, hair trailing out like a soft copper banner behind her.

* * *

Hanarai had no patience for ill-trained, slow to move servants. As soon as the door to Riverview opened, she pushed her way inside, ignoring their angry calls as she made her way up the stairs.

"Nine hells, are you two fools _totally_ incapable of _silence?_" Voranil shouted, emerging from his rooms, fingers pressed against his temples.

There was a general chorus of distressed denial and pointing of fingers, but Hanarai ignored it, grinning as she launched herself into his arms.

"Oh, I've missed you!" she laughed, pulling away as if to take a good look at him.

The servants stopped dead on the stairs.

"Sir?" one of the pair ventured. "This lady…?"

"This lady is always welcome here," he snapped, glowering. A moment later his expression softened as he turned to Hanarai. " My dear, I haven't seen you in _ages_. How are you?"

"Lovely. Absolutely brilliant." And then, in a conspiratorial whisper, "Gadayn's dead."

Voranil laughed.

"You poor dear. We all know how _fond_ of him you were. Wine?"

"Oh, no. Haven't the time, really. Just wanted to pop in and see you."

Frowning, the mer poured himself a glass instead.

"Have I upset you?"

"Of course not, darling." She smiled sweetly. "Why do you ask?"

"I wrote you recently." He sat down before the table, gesturing to the seat across from him. "But you never replied."

"Was this a few weeks ago?" Hanarai asked, sitting down.

Slowly, he nodded.

"You should have received it weeks ago, yes."

"Oh, dear. I was hoping I hadn't gotten any letters," she said with an apologetic smile. "You know the messenger I'm so fond of? Well, he ran into a bit of trouble on the road. Lost everything. Of course he was distraught, but I told him not to worry. Was it very important?"

And that was all it took to sooth the old mer's anxiety away. He laughed, leaning back in his seat to sip delicately at his wine.

"No. An invitation, current news. Nothing spectacular."

She smiled, a wicked twist of the lips, looking him dead in the eyes.

"I'm glad. For a moment I'd thought I'd missed something important."

It worked like a charm, as always. Voranil swallowed hard, internally lamenting she'd not chosen wine.

"Will you be long in town, or is this trip to only last a day?"

"Oh, I imagine I'll stay for awhile, now that I've not got Gadayn to worry about," she said, leaning back in her chair, legs crossed.

"Not at an _inn_, I hope," he said, with that ever-so-serious look of his.

"Unfortunately, yes." She shrugged. "I don't want to impose."

"Nonsense. I've more than enough room here. Take the guest room."

She laughed, waving him off.

"I couldn't possibly—"

"I won't hear otherwise," he said with a smile. "Besides, you'll want a decent bath once you return from rolling in the mud and you _know_ you won't get one at… which inn was it? I'll send the servants to collect your things."

And it was as simple as that.

* * *

Due East. Well, that certainly wasn't very complicated. They'd be lucky if some strange wizard wasn't already living there. It wouldn't be the first time she'd ventured into a ruin looking for pretty stones and found a cranky old mer waiting for her.

Then again, she'd probably be very cranky too if she lived all alone in an abandoned ruin. But as it was highly unlikely she'd be caught dead sleeping in such a place, Hanarai sincerely doubted she'd ever have to worry about such things.

Frowning at the sun, she pulled her hat down lower over her eyes and continued to climb up the hill. She hadn't been out exploring in ages. She'd missed the feel of the long grass against her legs, the sound of animals as they called to each other. There'd been a deer earlier, huffing at its little ones and she'd laughed to hear it.

And then the huff came again, closer this time, and Hanarai turned to see the black shape of a horse moving closer.

A horse with _red eyes_.

Immediately she dropped down in the grass, moving as quickly as she could to the very edge of the ruin without being seen. In her experience, creatures with red eyes were not the sort of creatures one wanted to associate with. They tended to be undead, crazed, or sleep deprived at the very least, and as that beast had to be the biggest horse she'd ever seen Hanarai did _not_ want to risk it.

She lay on her belly near the wall for a long moment, watching the horse and waiting. It sniffed the air again and looked around, but seeing nothing, wandered around the far edge of the ruin.

As soon as it'd gone out of her sight, she stood and made a mad dash for the door. The very last thing she wanted was to be trampled by some mad wizard's watch-horse. She could just imagine now what everyone would say about her.

* * *

Poor Hanarai. Oh, she could ride. But not horses.

Hanarai? You mean that Tel that got stepped on?

Oh, yes! I remember Hanarai. She was beautiful. Not too clever, though.

* * *

Not that it mattered now with her safely inside. Forcing the thoughts away, she smiled to herself as she looked around. The place was falling apart. Even if she didn't find any of the shinier stones, she'd certainly take a bit of brick home with her.

Lucien frowned into his pillow, not sure what it was that had woken him. The dark guardians were constantly running into each other, and occasionally the walls and traps. But there was no echo, no click-clatter of bones drifting down the hall and so he sat up, frowning at the wall, straining to listen.

It could have been a rat. He'd found one in his poison supplies the other day. Dead, of course, but the possibility of still animated brethren was a very viable one.

But there was nothing. He could hear bones rattling against the stone— a metronome clunking of undead feet. That wasn't unusual. That was the sort of thing that put him to sleep.

Frowning, Lucien rose from the bed and began to dress, though he doubted his company would last long enough to appreciate the sentiment.

* * *

Hanarai grinned at the dark guardian lumbering toward her. She loved the clever little things with a passion. Zombies were stinking, detestible, idiotic guards who could perform no more than simple commands. But dark guardians… now these were proper sentinels.

"You there," she called to it, pitching her voice low. "Halt."

Abruptly it turned to face her, but stopped dead in its tracks, jaw slack as it stared at her, waiting.

_Perfect_.

Hanarai strode forward, a song running through her head, feeling like dancing. If it weren't for the _smell_, she'd be inclined to keep these poor creatures as pets. They weren't very hard to care for, after all.

"_Orders?"_ It creaked in that bone death voice, a strange glimmering light in long abandoned eye sockets.

"Questions," she said, taking a captain's stance before it. "What have you seen, soldier?"

"_Rocks_," it answered. "_Walls. Mushroom. Rocks. Broken chest. Rat."_

"Rocks?" She smothered a grin. "What sort of rock?"

_"Rock."_

She sighed. Dark guardians were very clever _if_ one trained them properly. Still, even this little speech would have been impossible for a zombie. Generally their responses consisted of _durr_ and _urrrgh._

"Did the rock glow?"

_"No."_

"These are rocks from the walls then?"

_"Rocks,"_ it answered. _"Broken chest. Rat. Black man."_

She glared. So that bloody horse outside _did_ belong to someone.

"Black man? Human?"

_"Yes."_

"You wouldn't happen to know if he rides a horse, would you?"

Black horse. Black man. Black rider. Hanarai grit her teeth.

_"No horses here."_

"Right. Well, carry on, soldier," she growled and marched off.

She had more than an inkling of just who it was lurking here.

* * *

Lucien turned to open the grate just as Hanarai strode down the hall.

"_You,_" she snapped, pursing her lips as she spotted him. "By all your idiotic little gods, _why_ are you _following _me?"

He'd been expecting a member of the Dark Brotherhood, an angry lover or, at the very least, a misguided adventurer. He'd been _ready_ to deal with such a thing; it simply wasn't fair to thrust a Telvanni in his path.

"Following _you_, madam?" he growled between gritted teeth, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

This was _not_ shaping up to be a good week.


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Also pretend that Lucien has a desk for paperwork against the wall with his bed, and a desk for potions against the wall with his ladder.

* * *

Hanarai sighed, sweeping an errant strand of red hair away from her face as she stared at this strange Imperial. He wasn't bad looking for a human. In fact, if she were honest, he was quite handsome. Especially with that long hair of his loose and drifting around his face. 

But his following her around everywhere was absolutely ridiculous. Honestly, there were limits to her patience and she'd had quite enough today already. She opened her mouth to tell him he was really only embarrassing himself and that she had absolutely no interest in him whatsoever when she saw the little room behind him.

It was _furnished_. A bed, two desks, shelves, containers… The poor dear _lived_ here.

She'd meant to tell him he was a childish fool and should be looking to the short-lived women of his own race rather than to her.

Unfortunately, she burst out laughing first.

* * *

Lucien watched the mad woman through the grate, not sure what to think. She was obviously insane. It was the only reason for… well, _everything_. Her husband on the ceiling, her insistence on having Uvani over himself, the seemingly random laughter… 

"What, my I ask," he growled, kicking the lever to open the grate, "is so funny?"

Hanarai sniffed, sobering, though she was still grinning at him.

"Oh, dear. Do tell me you simply found these things here and I've jumped to the wrong assumption."

Glaring, Lucien squared his shoulders and stepped forward.

"And what assumption would that be, madam?"

But the Dunmer was not impressed. She didn't so much as bother to step back as he advanced, stifling giggles again.

"Do you _live_ here, sweetheart?"

Deciding that an answer in the affirmative would only spur her on, Lucien avoided the question.

"I fail to see how it's any business of yours in either case," he growled, stopping an inch before her. "But you'll find I am not so amiable towards… unwelcome guests."

Hanarai's eyes sparkled with laughter and Lucien felt his headache grow that much worse.

"You poor dear, you _do_ live here."

And then she was brushing past him, making her way inside the room to poke through his things.

"Madam, I spared your life once," he growled, following after her. "Do not _tempt_ me."

But she only waved a hand in his general direction without so much as turning around.

"Don't be silly. What would you kill me _with?_ Honestly."

And with that she was off towards his table filled with ingredients, lifting and smelling the open mouth of his potions.

"Don't you sleep well, dear?" she asked, setting down the empty blue bottle. "I'm surprised this puts you to sleep at all, though. That's barely strong enough for a rat. Let alone a man of your height." She paused then, regarding him. "Though I suppose it's possible you've simply no tolerance for it."

Lucien grit his teeth, fingers itching for his sword but remembering what Gadayn had said.

_Dangerous. Telvanni._

His experience of such people involved widespread trickery, flight and _very_ powerful destruction magic. And if there's one thing he learned killing mages, it was not to strike unless you _knew_ it would be the killing blow.

"Madam, I assure you—"

"It's _Hanarai_, dear," she said, turning to face him. "Han-a-rai. I've told you that before." And then she laughed as a thought occurred to her. "Though I suppose if you've no memory for names, that explains the state of your guardians."

"_What_?" It was just absurd enough to take him off guard.

"Your guardians, sweetheart. They're idiots."

"They're _dead_."

Hanarai smiled at him in a way that seemed to say, _oh you poor, misguided fool, _but deemed not to reply. And in the silence that followed, Lucien got a good look at her.

It was possible she was not mad, simply _Telvanni_. Which was to say _eccentric_. Alval Uvani would adore her. There was not a doubt in his mind this woman couldn't manipulate him into doing whatever it was she wanted him to.

On that note, there wasn't a doubt in his mind she couldn't manipulate _Ungolim_. Which would not only make his life a hell of a lot easier, but also make it possible to take the position of Listener for himself.

Smirking now, a plan forming, Lucien shut the grate and sauntered over to stand just behind her, leaning ever so slightly over her shoulder.

"Am I safe in assuming you came here to accept my proposition?" he murmured, breath whispering over the very tip of her ear.

But he should have known this woman to be a master of self-control, for she didn't so much as twitch.

"That only works Bosmers, sweetheart," she said, pulling away to scratch at her ear. "And I've already told you I wouldn't."

"Then why," he asked with a smirk and a dangerous, burning look in his eye, "are you _here_?"

"You want the truth?" She laughed. "I'm looking for a place to animate a corpse."

Lucien cocked a brow.

"And yet you don't strike me as a Necromancer. There's no smell of death, no blood beneath your fingernails. The fact you even _have_ fingernails." He smirked. "Dragging a body is not what you would call light work."

"You think in black and white," she said, smiling. "I expected better of you."

Lucien laughed, enjoying this wordplay.

"Ah, I suppose you never did mention who would be the one toying with corpses." He strode off for the cupboard, pulling from it a bottle of Tamika's. "Though I'm beginning to doubt you really _were_ the one to kill your husband."

"Of course I didn't," she said, accepting the glass. "_Obviously_ it was the work of a deranged madman."

"Obviously," he purred with a smile, leaning against the bookshelf. "But tell me, if you were to… _guess_, how do you imagine this madman managed to string him up?"

Hanarai smiled at him over the rim of her glass.

"Brute strength," she said, and pretended to drink.

But Lucien watched her over the rim of his own, noticing that while she swallowed, the motion was empty.

Clever girl.

That particular glass was tainted with a strong, undetectable paralysis potion. Had she been foolish enough to drink, she'd have been at his mercy. As it was, Lucien merely watched on and smiled.

Perhaps he couldn't convince her to join the family. That was just as well. She'd probably end up sleeping with Vicente and Sithis knew that man grew far too protective over his lovers.

But it was possible he could still bend her to will. And it certainly would be an enjoyable… _bending_.

She was beautiful, after all. And to see her in what was obviously men's clothing, unbound and unfettered…

Lucien smirked, wondering exactly what attracted this woman.

"What brings you to Cheydinhal, Hanarai?" he asked, drinking a bit more in hopes of convincing her it was safe. "Not corpses, I hope."

"As certain as I am they'd be plentiful with you nearby," she said with a smile, setting down her glass. "I came on holiday."

"Oh? Visiting… _friends?_"

"Clever boy," she laughed with a positively _wicked_ grin. "I'm sure you've a friend or two you don't consider a liability."

"Mmm… Perhaps." He set down his glass and tilted his head to the side, drinking in the sight of her perched on the edge of his desk. "But as I've never seen you before, I assume these friends of yours are… recent acquaintances?"

But Hanarai only smirked at him.

"As a matter of fact, no. Perhaps you simply neglected to look for me in the right place."

Lucien looked to where she'd set her wineglass. He'd made note of how far he'd filled it, and it was decidedly emptier now. And yet there was no sign of his poison taking effect. She smiled at him, laughing as though nothing had changed.

Wracking his brain without appearing too, Lucien searched for any memory of Dunmeri resistance to poison. But for the life of him, the only thing he could remember was Uvani's ridiculous allergy.

"No need to look like that," Hanarai purred, slipping off the desk, wineglass in hand. "I'm sure luck will find you in the right place soon. Unfortunately, that's not today."

And Lucien realized he couldn't move.

Hanarai laughed at the look on his face, patting him consolingly on the cheek.

"I find that to be a very useful spell. Far more convenient than traveling around with a taster, anyway."

"What did you _do_?" Lucien gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Oh, nothing really." She smirked, the epitome of smug. "Simply displaced a little more of my wine into your glass with each swallow."

And then Hanarai was laughing, dancing off towards his bureau to steal his razor from its bed near the basin. He tried to lunge after her, to will his body to move again, but all he succeeded was a twitch in the right direction.

She closed the grate behind her at least, skipping off, her laughter echoing through the stone halls.

And Lucien glowered at his own foolishness, leaning like a board against the bookshelf.

_The worst enemy you could ever make._

Obviously, he'd underestimated this woman.

* * *

Hanarai handed the dark guardian the stolen razor with a grin. 

"Be a dear and find more of these for me," she said. "Or anything with a shine, really. I'm not that particular."

The guardian laughed, a deep, chattering sound like sepulcher doors slamming shut in quick succession.

Hanarai grinned, patted him on the shoulder and ran out. By the time she reached Riverview, a hot bath was waiting for her, Voranil lounging on the bed in his robe, a glass of wine in one hand.

"Wine, darling?" he asked as he rose.

She smiled as she shed her clothing, and was only too happy to accept.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Hanarai leaned her head back against Voranil's shoulder, smiling as he played with her hair. It'd been an hour already and they'd had to reheat the water twice. The fact their… _games_ involved ice in strategic places certainly hadn't helped much. 

She was thoroughly tired now though, what with her day of riding, exploring and incredibly lovely sex. Taking a delicate sip of the wine in her hand, she sighed and nuzzled a little closer into the mer behind her.

It had been a wonderful day. Even that strange little Imperial had proved amusing. It was almost as if he'd thought his poison subtle. There was no mistaking the smell of harrada, after all.

She did hope the poor boy's potion hadn't been _too _strong though. Harrada had a tendency to silence as well as paralyze and if he couldn't get himself unstuck…

Oh, but it was his own fault anyway, she decided. After all, it was terribly bad manners to attempt to paralyze your guests. And giggling to herself at the memory that thought summoned of a Telvanni tea party she'd once been invited to, Hanarai closed her eyes and drifted off.

* * *

Lucien was stiff and cranky by the time he emerged from his spell. An hour-long paralysis was quite a useful thing when you had a victim in need of questioning or a traitor to transport. But when it was used against _him_… 

Groaning, Lucien attempted to work the cramp from his back and failing that, threw himself down on the bed.

Infuriating, clever woman. And so paranoid. Were all Tel like that, he wondered? Considering their power structure, he didn't doubt it. Which meant he'd have to be far more careful in the future. And there most certainly would be a future.

Damned if he were going to let an insult like that stand.

And feeling rather cozy and secure amongst his plots for revenge, Lucien fell asleep.

* * *

Hanarai snuggled deeper into the soft covers, enjoying the heat of the mer next to her and the fact that even as tall as he was, he'd kept to his side of the bed. 

To be honest, moving from the bed today was _not_ part of her plans. After all, suddenly finding one's self without an irritating, too energetic Bosmer left time for such things. She knew Voranil was more likely to curl up with her than get her up and that was just perfect.

Smiling to herself, she stretched and pulled the covers up over her shoulders. Today was going to be a wonderful day. Absolutely lovely. Nothing to do, no one to worry about, and with time enough for her to answer whatever letters came her way.

A beautiful day. Gorgeous. Not a thing in the world wrong.

Except that the sun was shining brightly just now, falling from the window in a very tantalizing strip over Voranil's stomach where she'd stolen most of the blankets.

Grinning, Hanarai took the rest of the covers before pouncing, wondering if it would take the mer very long to wake up.

* * *

Lucien didn't want to go. There was almost always bad news when he did. But there was really no getting around it. There were contracts to be delivered, reassignments to manage, plotting to be done and none of it could be properly finished without returning to the sanctuary.

He did _not_ want to go.

He buried his face in the pillow instead, trying to ignore his burning sense of responsibility just a little longer. Every single muscle in his body ached, his head throbbed and he was _exhausted._ These were the first few hours of unbroken sleep he'd had all week and he wasn't willing to unravel himself from them just yet.

Unfortunately, there really was no putting it off any longer.

Pulling himself out of bed with a groan, Lucien set about searching for his clothes.

* * *

Vicente frowned, regarding the man in front of him. To be blunt, Lucien looked like a corpse. Normally so careful with his appearance, today he was unshaven and pale, dark rings sitting heavy under his eyes. 

"The Night Mother's been busy," Vicente said, rising to take the mountain of contracts. "As have you, apparently."

"Always," he said, moving to shut the door before sitting down. "Any advance?"

"None." Vicente shook his head as he set about sorting the contracts. "But Bellamont's been promoted. Hopefully this brooks some… improvement."

"Sithis," Lucien hissed, leaning back to massage his aching temples. "Who took him?"

"Arquen."

Lucien despised it when other Speakers recruited from his sanctuary. But in this case, it was a sudden relief.

"She has no idea what she's walked into," Lucien said with an exhausted laugh.

"Perhaps." Vicente shrugged. "But then you've no real proof. He could have been framed."

Lucien snorted.

"Hell, if there was proof, I'd have strung him up by his entrails already."

Or perhaps tied him to the ceiling with a sign in his hands reading:

HERE BE AN IDIOT

Lucien smirked at the thought, before bringing his mind back to the task at hand.

"No matter. He's Arquen's problem now. When these… unfortunate accidents continue, it'll be on her head."

Vicente smiled. He had no love for the Altmer pig. Hadn't since he'd been sent to recruit her. There were times he missed being a Speaker, but this wasn't one of them. He recognized the look of sheer exhaustion on Lucien's face. He'd suffered it enough himself running from one edge of Cyrodill to another, dealing with the overflow of contracts and constant complaints. _That,_ he certainly didn't miss.

"Have you been out recently?" Lucien asked suddenly and with a strange, unfathomable look in his eyes.

"Yes," he answered at length, wondering where this conversation would lead.

"There's a woman I'm looking for. An… attractive Dunmer with red hair. You'd probably have seen her hanging on the nearest male."

Vicente was silent a moment, recognizing that plotting look in Lucien's eyes.

"Do you know her name?"

"Hanarai. As far as I can gather she's a Telvanni in from Morrowind."

Internally, Vicente flinched at the mention of his home.

"Can't say as I've heard mention of her. Though it's possible I simply do not travel in the right circles. Is she in town?"

"For now?"

Vicente arched a brow at that.

"For now?"

"She lives in Chorrol."

"And yet you know of her?"

"Her husband arranged her death. Unfortunately, he didn't live long enough to see it."

"Ah. I imagine her argument was the better," Vicente murmured, more to himself than the Speaker, smiling at the old joke. "She's power hungry?"

"Her husband was rich and she's sleeping with a Necromancer. One would assume."

Vicente nodded.

"I'd wager you'll find her with the count's son."

"And where would that happen to be?" Lucien asked, feeling suddenly rather better about his day.

"The Cheydinhal Bridge Inn." Vicente finished sorting the contracts and looked up. "Though I'd be careful, if I were you. Telvanni are notoriously… clever."

Clever enough to turn his own poison against him. That wasn't a mistake he'd make twice. Smirking at the brilliance of his uncoiling plan, Lucien nodded to the vampire before striding from the room.

Today, he suspected, was drastically about to improve.

* * *

Noon found Hanarai sitting at Voranil's desk, staring down at the blank sheet of paper before her. There were two letters she'd set down to write. One to her father and another to her sister. She'd finished her father's already. It was sitting close to the window to dry, a corked bottle of wine keeping it from blowing off. 

_**Father,**_

_**Gadayn and I have had a falling out. Narice may have mentioned to you the odd assortment of… items he'd been keeping in the basement? Well, it **_**was**_** the Dark Brotherhood he was attempting to summon, as I thought. However, there is no need to worry. I've taken care of the problem and now find myself a widow of rather comfortable means. **_

_**I'm afraid I cannot write more just at the moment. Not until I'm sure this unpleasantness has all blown over. Know that I am safe and currently on holiday in Cheydinhal. Would Mother like anything, do you think?**_

_**Your loving daughter,**_

_**Hanarai**_

Hanarai sighed and twined a strand of hair around her finger, staring down at the blank page a moment more before she began to write.

_**Narice,**_

_**It seems I have a pet Imperial. **_

_**I came to Cheydinhal on vacation, hoping to get away from the mess Gadayn is no doubt making as we speak, only to find that the poor boy **_**lives**_** here. And not just anywhere, mind you. In a fort. An old, abandoned ruin of a fort. Who **_**does**_** that these days?**_

_**I only mention it because he thinks himself rather clever. Falcar's looking for somewhere to conduct his larger experiments, you see, and he mentioned having heard something from inside. I ventured up there, hoping to find a dark guardian or two (there were six) and ended up walking into my murderer. **_

_**I say he **_**thinks**_** himself rather clever, because the state of his guardians is absolutely deplorable. He's not even told them his name. Nor do I think they actually answer to him. When I asked the first what he'd seen, do you know what he told me?**_

_**"Rocks. Broken chest. Rat. Black man." **_

_**Not even a proper sentence. But I don't blame the poor dear, really. He's simply untrained. As is my murderer, I suppose. He offered me a glass of wine, which would have been very sweet had I been at all interested.**_

_**Or if the glass hadn't been tainted with harrida. Which has to be the most obvious paralysis potion in the world. Any alchemist who can't recognize the smell of it upon entering the room, let alone drinking from a tainted glass deserves the paralysis.**_

_**Though I am a bit concerned for the poor dear. Because of course I switched the drinks around a bit, and when I left he was silenced and paralyzed, leaning up against a bookshelf. Granted, it's his own fault if I find him there a week from now, but it feels a little like leaving a stupid animal to starve. **_

_**Your loving sister,**_

_**Hanarai**_

Hanarai stared at the letter for a moment after she'd finished, watching the ink dry. She'd almost considered going off to check on him. She didn't really _want_ to go, but then she wasn't the sort of person that left helpless creatures lying about to starve. It wasn't _his_ fault he was an idiot. Rather it was more his parents' fault…

Or the fault of the species, perhaps.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her before picking pieces of lint from the sleeve of her dressing gown.

She _could_ get dressed and go up in the cold to see if that wretched Imperial had managed to move himself yet.

Or she could stay here, drink a glass of wine, wait for Voranil to return from whatever business he'd left on.

Or, and here was a rather attractive prospect, she could see if Falcar was rather more inclined towards wine today. She _had_ missed him, after all.

Smiling, she rose from her chair and made her way for her bags. Visiting Falcar was a lovely idea, and she knew just what she'd wear.


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

There was no question as to if he would get his revenge. It was simply a matter of when, where and how. Lucien grinned, humming to himself as he rode home, a tuneless little melody that had it possessed words would have spoke of brilliant, life destroying plans and the devilishly handsome man executing them.

He hadn't slept properly in weeks and the guild was threatening to crumble around his ears, but Lucien was in a fine mood. There was no game he enjoyed more than this one.

It was a gorgeous day.

Except that Ungolim was waiting for him.

Lucien's happy tune faltered and died. There was no mistaking Ungolim's horse on the hill— a vicious, dappled half-breed creature that hated any and all forms of life. Frowning now, his good mood killed, Lucien dismounted and made for the trapdoor, wondering what in the hell he was in for now.

* * *

"You look stunning, as always, my dear," Falcar drawled, intercepting Hanarai before the Argonian had a chance. "To what do I owe this visit?"

She grinned, leaning into his circle of heat as they walked down the steps to his quarters.

"All that time in Chorrol with no one but a cranky old mer for company? I've missed you."

She could see the corner of Falcar's lip quirk up— as close as he ever came to grinning.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Laughing, Hanarai hooked an arm around his.

"You knew I would."

"Which is why I've a gift for you," he said, shutting the door, a definite smirk curling at his lips now.

"Oh? What sort of gift?"

She giggled and pounced on the bed in a cloud of fabric, but Falcar only smirked and moved to the dresser, slipping something out and into the pocket of his robe.

"Guess," he purred.

A devilish light lit in Hanarai's eyes and she leaned forward ever so slightly.

"Wine?"

"Not just yet."

"A new potion?"

"Less liquid, dear," this said as he placed a knee on the very edge of the bed, prowling forward.

Hanarai lay back and pretended to think, chewing absently on her bottom lip.

"Could it be… a rock?"

"What sort?" He was looming over her now, an arm braced on either side of her head.

"The shiny sort?" she asked, mischief in her eyes.

Falcar chuckled, nuzzling into her neck.

"You'll have to do better than that."

"Ayleid?"

"No," this punctuated with a sharp nip at the curve of her throat.

"Soul gem?" This a bit breathier than she'd intended, Falcar having discovered a rather sensitive spot.

"So close," a whisper of heat against her skin.

"Common?"

A chuckle that vibrated through her.

"Your late husband, perhaps. But me?"

"Grand?"

Another particularly sensitive spot discovered and conquered.

"Is that all I mean to you?"

"Black."

She could feel the curve of Falcar's lips against her skin the moment before he arched into her vision to steal a kiss.

"Clever girl."

And two cold stones pressed against her stomach through the fabric of her dress, just before Falcar pounced.

* * *

"What is it?" Lucien asked, sliding down the last few rungs rather than be bothered. "What's gone wrong now?"

Ungolim simply gazed at him with that unreadable look that never boded well.

"Where have you been?"

He frowned.

"Delivering contracts. As always."

"This week. You've been in Cheydinhal? Holed up here?"

Lucien's frown deepened. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it certainly didn't bode well.

"Of course not. I do my job, unlike that fetching Dunmer."

Ungolim broke then, frustration and exhaustion showing plainly on his face.

"Save it, Lachance. Where were you?"

"I've been everywhere." He strode to his desk, rifling through his notes from various consultations. "Inn of Ill Omen, Pell's Gate, Wawnet Inn, Weynon Priory oddly enough…"

"You've documentation?" he sounded surprised.

Lucien fixed him with a sideways glare.

"Of course I do. And you'll notice my Sanctuary loses fewer members. Rarely do I forget to mention something."

"Until recently."

"I'm doing what I can, for Sithis' sake! You think he killed this many of our family by being obvious?"

"Lachance," a warning note that spoke of exactly how close he was to crossing the line and what would happen once he did.

"My apologies," he forced out through gritted teeth, turning to sort through his papers so Ungolim wouldn't see the anger on his face.

"You can't continue like this," the Bosmer said at last. "I will not allow the Brotherhood to fail for your stupidity."

Lucien knew he was being goaded, knew Ungolim was waiting for a chance to remove him. So instead he took a deep breath, ignoring him for a moment in favor of happier thoughts.

Crimson eyes and a brilliant plan for revenge came to mind.

"Bellamont's been promoted," he said at last, turning, the epitome of calm. "We shall see if these unfortunate accidents move to Anvil."

"How is it that he's clever enough to keep from capture, but not enough to keep from killing in his own home?"

Lucien smiled coldly, spreading his hands.

"Obviously, he's mad. I believe his actions establish that well enough."

"And yet he was one of your recruits, was he not?"

So he'd been talking to Uvani.

"No," Lucien snapped. "If I remember correctly, he was J'Ghasta's. He sent him to Cheydinhal after that… incident with the Slayer."

"Ah, my mistake." Ungolim smiled, eyes cold. "But you must admit. Records recently, Lachance… It does not look good."

"That's not my concern," he said, struggling to keep his face blank. "It's Arquen you should be looking to now."

"And the proof?" there was a terseness to his voice now, a fraying of control that had been well hidden before. "You cannot simply pick a scapegoat, Lachance. Where is your proof?"

Lucien stared at him, unblinking.

"He is clever."

"Clever. Clever enough to kill seven of our numbers. Find him, Lachance. Understand we've far more against you than him. It's your word alone keeping you alive. Remember that."

And without another word he turned, gone in a flash up the ladder, leaving Lucien to grit his teeth in silence. 

* * *

Ungolim had left a list of soon-to-be recruits on the edge of his desk and Lucien clenched his jaw until the muscles screamed, trying hard to keep from tearing the room apart.

hateyouhateyouhateyouhopeyoudiewanttoseeyousuffer

He forced it away a moment later, took a deep breath and cracked his jaw. Slowly, control returned to its shaky equilibrium.

This madness would stop. But for now there was nothing he could do.

Lucien strode to the mirror, fixing his hair before attempting to ease the dark circles from under his eyes. As his razor was still missing, he'd have to go un-shaven. Not a problem, really. He simply looked… dangerous.

Good.

Sweeping on his cloak, Lucien snatched the paper from his desk and strode for the ladder.

Let them crumble. Let them all fail.

And with that, he was gone. 

* * *

Hanarai curled up into Falcar's chest, smiling with eyes closed. There was nothing she loved more than the smell of him— spice and rain and fresh turned earth, a whisper of cologne and the sweet smell of his soap. Without looking up, she could feel him smile and draw her closer, a soft chuckling rumbling like distant thunder beneath her ear.

"I've missed you," he purred with that hidden smile in the corner of his mouth.

Hanarai grinned, coiling arms around his waist to pull him closer.

"You have no idea how pleased I am that little fetcher's dead."

Falcar laughed again, another rumble sent to curl around her, beckoning until Hanarai forgot where she ended and he began.

"My luck seems to have changed since you arrived," Falcar murmured.

"Oh?" More sigh than word.

"Just last night another feeble minded idiot came looking for a recommendation."

"What did you ask him for?" Sleepy, content.

"My ring, of course. I refuse to write a recommendation for anyone incapable of a simple feather spell."

"And it just so happens this conviction kills two birds with one stone?

"Look at it this way," he smiled, running fingers through her hair. "I'm keeping them from breeding."

Hanarai giggled and twined herself closer, wondering if it were at all possible to spend the week without moving from this spot.


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Argh. There is loads of stuff between the last chapter and this chapter. Only I'm not going to write it, because it's making my brain hurt. So you can fill in what you like. It probably consisted of tea parties and sex anyway.

* * *

Lucien returned three days later, even more exhausted and upset than he'd been when he left. Frankly, he _loathed_ recruiting. It grated on his every nerve until he wanted nothing more to beat the life out of the next unfortunate murderer to cross his path.

Which was exactly why Ungolim sent him recruiting.

Gritting his teeth, never happier to see the inside of the wretched city, Lucien made his way to the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn. He intended to have a drink, possibly find his Dunmer, and if all else failed, return to Farragut and get properly drunk.

* * *

Hanarai stared down into her mead, wondering when the Indarys boy would just _give up_. Not only was his childish pursuit of her was embarrassing, but now he fancied himself a _knight_. It would have been laughable if it weren't so bloody sad.

Add to that it was Falcar's fault she was in here. She'd gone to visit him only to find him and a great majority of his things missing, that irritating Argonian standing by with a knowing look and a sad smile.

So, as Voranil was planning yet another of his parties, she'd come here for company.

And found the _wrong bloody company._

Just at the moment, she was alternating between wishing someone would come _save_ _her _and musing on whether or not the boy would recognize a recall spell when he saw one. Because this conversation was horribly tiresome. Farwil hadn't so much paused to breathe let alone _drink_ and Hanarai couldn't scrape a thought together to save her life. The boy's voice was grating. On and on he went about absolutely _nothing_.

How was it possible someone could talk of absolutely _nothing_ for nearly an _hour_? Had his father not been so horribly influential…

"And I almost forgot. I heard something today I thought would interest you," he said at last, leaning in so close Hanarai was obliged to subtly shift back.

"Oh, yes?"

"Valen Dreth is dead."

"Dreth?" Hanarai frowned. "_That_ useless pervert?"

* * *

Sitting in the obligatory ill-lit corner of the inn, Lucien looked up at the sound of Dreth's name. He'd signed that contract off to one of the newer recruits— a particularly inquisitive girl who'd asked too many questions when Lucien had _far_ bigger things to worry about. He'd been rather hoping the stupid blighter would get herself killed when he'd assigned that. He'd gotten the impression during their short meeting that while the girl wasn't mad, neither was she very bright.

But Hanarai…

He smirked to see her there, looking uncomfortably cornered and rather peevish. Licking his lips, Lucien set down the mug of ale and slowly rose from his shadows. This opportunity was too perfect to pass up.

* * *

Hanarai startled at the feel of an arm draped over her shoulder. She spun, ice dancing at her fingers, only to find her pet Imperial, standing with shoulders squared, feet planted, looking _very_ pissed off.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, glowering down at the count's son.

"_Me?" _Farwil leaned back in a way he thought look aggressive. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Lucien stared at the plague ridden youth before him, one eyebrow cocked. He was not armed or armored, nor did he seem to possess any strength at all.

"You're obviously mad, boy." Lucien looked to Hanarai then, seemingly concerned. "My apologies, darling. I would have arrived sooner, but I was unavoidably detained."

Hanarai was trying very hard not to laugh, though she was sure the twitch in her cheek gave her dead away. This was all so horribly unexpected she wasn't sure she could answer.

Not that it mattered. A moment later Farwil swayed from his seat, imitating an intimidating swagger that made Hanarai squeeze her eyes shut and devote her full attention to trying not to laugh.

"You are speaking to Farwil Indarys, son of Count Andel Indarys. And _you_—"

"Indarys, are you?" Lucien laughed. "You certainly have your mother's grace."

He said it so smoothly, Hanarai had to bite her cheek to keep herself composed. Llathasa Indarys, killed by a nasty fall down an incredibly inconvenient set of stairs.

Farwil on the other hand was totally oblivious to the jibe. He sat back with a smug smirk, thinking he'd inspired the appropriate fear into his competition.

"That's better." And then, turning. "Hanarai, who _is_ this peasant?"

She felt the Imperial's fingers twitch at _peasant_, a brief hatred flickering through his eyes. So he didn't like to be reminded of his lack of influence? She'd worked with less.

"Oh, just my personal guard," she said with a smile. "He's really quite sweet."

Farwil laughed.

"Well, she has no need for you here, Imperial. She's dining with a Knight of the Thorn."

Hanarai would not call this dining, nor would she consider the boy in front of her any sort of knight at all. Next to her, Lucien stiffened almost imperceptibly. Though whether it was anger or laughter that held him, she couldn't tell.

"A knight?" A slow smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Would you allow me the pleasure of a fight? I've sparred with Blades, but never _knights_."

Farwil's eyes lit up at the thought of teaching this impertinent man a thing or two.

"I'd be happy to," he said, leaping from his seat.

Hanarai sighed, standing. Boys and their need for dominance.

"My lady?" Farwil asked, offering his arm.

But Lucien only smirked and pulled her closer to him, an arm around her waist.

"Lead the way."

The Indarys boy frowned, but began pushing his way through the crowd. Hanarai leaned close, resting her head on Lucien's shoulder with a sweet smile.

"If you don't get your hand off me, you shall find yourself suddenly less of a man."

Lucien laughed.

"And here I thought you'd be grateful for the distraction. Or is that boy your _lover?"_

She snorted and burst out laughing as she wound her way through the crowd.

"Of course. I just _adore_ his senseless babble. Don't you?"

Chuckling to himself, Lucien followed her outside.

"Did you get _lost_?" Farwil scoffed. "Come. It's freezing."

Hanarai rolled her eyes and moved to sit on the edge of the low stone wall. Bruma was cold. Chorrol was cold. _This_ was late summer.

"Your weapon?" The boy asked, drawing his heavily decorated sword.

Lucien smirked, pulling his own unadorned silver free of its sheath.

"I have simple tastes," he said by way of explanation, arching it between his hands in pleasing spirals.

Hanarai watched in fascination as the blade danced over the backs of his hands, around and over again as he crossed it from palm to palm. She'd never seen a trick quite like that before. Neither, apparently, had Farwil as he balked at the show a moment before setting his jaw and assuming position.

"At the lady's call?" Lucien asked with a wink in Hanarai's direction, startling her out of her daze.

Resisting the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him, Hanarai gave the call to begin.

It was pathetic.

Obviously, the boy had _some _training. But it was just as obvious he had ignored the finer points in favor of blatant attacks against instructors that were paid to let him win.

Lucien was _not_ about to let him win.

He sidestepped the boy's first attack, chipping a jewel from his sword as Farwil charged past.

Seeing the damage, the count's son glowered.

"You'll regret that!" he shouted.

But Lucien only smiled, rather amused this boy thought himself a swordsman. He'd grown up wielding a scythe for hours on end, had learned sword play from a vampire and had never once fought an opponent that would think twice about killing him.

"Right," Farwil said, collecting himself. "To first blood?"

Lucien shrugged.

"I've no preference."

"Wonderful." And then, turning to Hanarai, "for you, my lady. Victory is nigh! Huzzah!"

He started forward again, but Lucien feinted to the left, dodging past to chip another gem from his sword. This one he caught, throwing it to Hanarai with a dramatic bow.

"For you, my lady," he mimicked.

Farwil attempted to use this to his advantage, but Lucien whipped around, landing a jarring kick just under his kneecap. The boy hit the ground with a cry in a cloud of half frozen dust, his sword skittering off a few feet away.

"Damn. Missed," Lucien swore, but he was smiling as he gouged another gaudy gem from the hilt of the fallen sword with a flick of his own.

"You fetching cheater!" Farwil shouted, scrambling to his feet in an embarrassing half limp. "Stop that!"

Hanarai giggled as Lucien threw two more gems in her lap and began to juggle them for lack of anything better to do. Seeing this, he smiled before turning back to face the boy.

"How can I cheat when _you_ failed to specify the rules?"

"Swords only!" he shouted, his cheeks flushed a rather awkward shade of violet.

But Lucien only smirked.

"Too late."

What followed was a series of impossible to follow blows, Lucien beating the boy backwards until he was pressed flat against the outside wall of the inn, a thin line of blood dripping from the cut at his throat.

Lucien stepped back then, sheathing his sword with a smirk.

"I believe I've won."

"You _cheat!_" Farwil spat and scrambled to his feet. "Hanarai—"

And then he stopped, seeing her spot at the wall deserted.

Lucien grit his teeth, irritated that this foolishness had lost him his chance.

"How horrible life must be for you," he drawled, glaring at the boy. "Your very voice drives people away."


	10. Chapter Ten

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Hanarai frowned, waving off the mist that always followed a recall spell before tossing the gems into an empty wineglass by the table. She had far better things to do with her time than wait for two boys to finish up their pointless fight. Though she had to admit, she was extremely grateful her Imperial had shown up when he did. That had been a _very_ uncomfortable situation he'd wrested her from and with minimal effort. All he'd had to do was challenge the boy's masculinity and off they went.

She smiled, stripping from her clothes as she filled up the bath with an off handed ice spell. Perhaps Voranil would even join her. But then his plans for his latest party were taking up a good deal of his time. Apparently _this_ one was a costume ball for some inane reason and more important than the last three thousand he'd thrown.

Not that it mattered.

Taking a towel from its seat in the cupboard, she wrapped it around herself before setting to heating the water. It was always comforting to see the flames dancing over the surface— to opposites meeting, dancing…

Her thoughts wandered as she controlled her flames, back to the Imperial who'd saved her. As far as humans went, he wasn't entirely unattractive. If she were honest, there was a dangerous aura about him she found quite attractive. And an assassin too…

She'd been aiming for the Dunmer Speaker of the Brotherhood. From what she heard he was quite a powerful mer— the next in line for head of the guild. If she could keep a man like that, she'd have the entire Assassin's Guild under her thumb. And wouldn't that be _marvelous?_

But as her source had been wrong about Uvani and she didn't really know how to find him otherwise… Well, the Imperial would certainly be a nice step up. Hell, he could even introduce them if she played her hand right.

And she certainly intended to.

With a jolt, Hanarai realized the water in the tub was nearly boiling and abruptly soothed the flames with ice, leveling out the temperature. She hadn't meant to get so distracted…

But it _was_ a beautiful plan.

Singing to herself as she stepped inside the tub, Hanarai leaned into the heat and smiled.

It was a perfect, beautiful plan.

* * *

Lucien glared at the buildings as he passed, attempting to track that annoying Telvanni woman down. How was it possible that he could get _so close_ and still manage to lose her? But somehow she'd disappeared. Gone. Not a trace. No ladylike footsteps in the dirt, no sound, nothing. Even his detect life spell fell only on the sleeping forms of beggars and too-skinny Imperial women.

She'd literally disappeared. Which was impossible.

Lucien stopped, realizing his mistake. Not only was this woman a _Telvanni_, but she was from _Morrowind_. There was a plethora of spells there meant for nothing more than removing a person from one place to drop into another.

Swearing, he glowered at the buildings that much harder, wondering _where_ exactly Hanarai would _be_. He'd had a horrible week, after all. His back felt like it was breaking in half and he wanted nothing more than the satisfaction of executing his brilliant revenge.

Though failing that, he'd managed to secure a nice keg of mead last week he hadn't had the time to tap yet. And what with that woman's irritating tendency of finding him wherever he went…

What would one day hurt?

* * *

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Voranil said as he swept into the room, still distracted with his party minutiae. "You've a letter."

He set it just to the edge of the bath and stopped, a frown scratched across his features.

"What's the matter?" Hanarai asked, leaning over the edge of the tub for it.

"I recognize the writing."

She arched a brow, looking up.

"Oh?"

"Falcar," he said, looking rather uncomfortable. "If I were you, I'd be careful around that corpse fondling old mer. He could prove… dangerous."

Laughing, Hanarai leaned back, slitting open the letter with the tip of a nail.

"You think he's a Necromancer? That's absolutely ridiculous."

He was and it wasn't, but as the Mages' Guild was run by an idiotic, powerful _human_, Hanarai was rather nervous for Falcar's safety.

But Voranil only pursed his lips, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I doubt he took his position without some measure of… intelligence. He could be hiding it from you."

"You're being silly, Vor. I'm sure I'd know if he were a Necromancer."

"And yet I always see him in the graveyard?"

Hanarai looked up, shocked and saddened.

"Is that your _only_ proof?"

"Well, last I walked by the guild I saw him pulling something vaguely human shaped from the well." But his conviction was faltering in the face of his angry lover.

"_That_ was an idiot Imperial who fell in," she snapped, angry now. "But did you not think as to _why_ he might go to the cemetery? That perhaps someone he cared about may have _died_? Or do you make a habit of simply assuming the worst?"

"Hanarai—" Sheepish now, ready to beg forgiveness. Perhaps he _had_ jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was possible the mer had had a lover once… or family.

"You leave your little potions and skooma lying about all over the place. That doesn't make you a ugly, slobbering addict, does it?"

"Sweetheart, please." He stood up, concerned now that he may have managed to ruin everything. "I was only worried for you. And the body in the well—"

"Bigot," she spat, glaring at him. "Hypocritical old _bigot_."

"Hanarai—"

"Hush now. I'm done speaking with you."

And with that she unfolded the parchment and ignored the profusely apologizing mer to read her note.

* * *

_**H,**_

_**Problems arose. Safety in question. Don't worry.**_

_**With love,**_

_**F**_

* * *

She stared at it for a long moment before carefully folding it up and slipping it back in its envelope.

_Problems._

She'd bet money that of those _problems _one was scaled and ornery and the other was a large group of old men with their heads too far in the clouds to see the world around them.

Gritting her teeth now, Voranil's continued apology driving her mad, she fired a silence spell into the air, watching as a comforting purple glow arched around her. Now she could drop the pretense of indignation and think of more important things.

_With love…_

Oh, dear.

* * *

He was going to need a new plan.

Well not so much a _new plan _as an _altered plan_. Because his rather lovely idea involving vast quantities of wine, strategically placed aphrodisiacs and a night during which he would break her control over and over again was simply not quite possible at the moment.

Apparently he needed more than _find_ and _conquer_.

Lucien downed a good half of his glass in a prolonged, miserable gulp before staring down at the stack of papers on his desk.

First and foremost was a rather irritating document that demanded his returning to Chorrol to arrange a contract that went against everything the Dark Brotherhood stood for.

Lucien contemplated setting it on fire, but settled for refilling his glass.

After all, Hanarai would be returning to Chorrol sooner or later. And once there…

He smiled and toasted to the idea before rising and making his way to the bed. He'd found a lovely book weeks ago and hadn't been able to read it, what with the traitor and Ungolim both running him ragged.

Taking another long, happy swallow, Lucien leaned back into his stack of pillows and began to read.

* * *

As soon as she stepped out of the bath, Hanarai sifted through her pack for something warmer. Cheydinhal was fairly mild so long as the sun was shining, but as soon as night fell, the snow clouds rolled in.

A soft yellow cloak emerged from the bag and she set it aside, digging now for something to wear _under_ it. What she found was an old, leaf green riding dress of hers, slit up the sides to allow her legs room. After a moment of searching, she even found the ocean-tinted leggings that went with it.

Dressing as quickly as she could, she strode off to the mirror to brush and braid her hair before sweeping on her cloak. The sooner she left, the better. After all, she wanted Voranil to think he'd really upset her with his callous observations. There'd be no end to his gifts and flowery apologies then. And large stacks of parcels really did make one look more important.

Smiling at the thought, she hefted her bags and made her way outside. She'd leave the bath water for Voranil to worry about when he returned. Gods only knew where he'd left to. _She_ certainly hadn't been paying attention. She'd been reading.

A flash of panic and she dropped her bags in the street, rifling through them like a madwoman. _There_. A brush of paper against her fingers and she pulled Falcar's letter free, slipping it into her bodice for safe keeping, the two black soul gems already a comforting weight in the pouch at her hip.

That was one letter she could not leave behind.

_With love…_

Not that there was any _reason_ for it. She'd simply grown rather fond of him. That was all. And now, with the concern for his safety… No, it was nothing at all really. Just a bit of passing silliness. It wouldn't hurt to indulge herself in this instance. Not like anyone was _watching_.

Maybe she'd even get some of those lovely chocolates from the Imperial City on her way past. As long as it was a week of indulgences, anyway. After all, it was entirely possible she had a dead body to contend with when she returned home.

Her flicker of a happy mood soured, Hanarai set off down the street, lamenting the lack of so much as an errand boy to carry her things.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

A pair of bookend guards intercepted Hanarai before she could reach her house, standing shoulder to shoulder and looking vaguely uncomfortable about the whole situation.

"You can't go in, madam," said the one on the left.

Hanarai stepped back in shock.

"Can't go in? This is my _home_."

"There's been… an accident," said the other, uncomfortably. "Your husband is dead."

"Where were you this past week, madam?"

"Dead?" Tears welled in her eyes. "Gadayn is… _dead_? No, that's not possible. He can't be dead."

The guard on the right glared at the other's lack of tact and moved forward to comfort her.

"I'm sorry."

"W…what happened?" she didn't bother with a handkerchief, knowing this was the sort of man that hated to see a woman cry. "Could the healers do nothing?"

"It was… too late for that when we arrived. His neck was broken."

"His neck?" Her eyes went very wide and she began to breathe faster, a hand fluttering to her chest. "Not Gadayn. There must be some mistake. Not _my_ husband."

"Ma'am, are you alright?" the other asked, stepping forward. "You look pale."

"Gadayn," she whispered, and crumpled.

The first guard caught her before she could hit the ground, sweeping her up to cradle in his arms.

"Oh, yes," he snarled, glaring at his partner. "She faints at the _thought_ of blood. She _must_ have been the one to kill her husband."

"I didn't say she was our _only_ suspect," the other snapped. "Simply the most likely."

"Because it's obvious a muscle bound woman like this could tie that boulder of a Bosmer to the ceiling."

"Look, Bittneld said to explore every option."

"You _cannot _consider this an option."

There was a long pause as the two men looked around the street uncomfortably.

"What are we going to do with her?" the second asked at length.

"Find an inn, I guess. Emfred gives free rooms to the guard."

"She gives free rooms to _Bittneld_, you mean."

"Ah. We're going to have to find the captain, aren't we?"

From her position draped in the man's arms Hanarai resisted the urge to move. This man was _disgusting_. She was most certainly going to need a bath after he finally put her down, the filthy, unshaven, unwashed fetcher of a Nord. At least her Imperial had sense enough to use _soap_.

A particularly nice blend, whatever it was. Either that or his cologne had been lovely. She couldn't help but noticed the soft, earthy sent that hung around him. It'd been like a breath of fresh air in the stifling heat of that tavern.

Which was part of the reason she hadn't threatening to emasculate him in front of Farwil. That and the fact he was currently rescuing her _from_ Farwil.

Thinking longingly of the chocolates in her pack and the lovely Dunmer who'd bought them for her, Hanarai held very still and tried not to breathe.

It didn't work.

Making a small kittenish noise in the back of her throat, she pretended to wake. The guard startled and set her down, holding her when she swayed precariously.

"Careful. You got your feet under you, ma'am?"

"I'm fine. I am," she murmured, taking an unsteady step forward. "I just need… Oh my… _Gadayn."_

She burst out crying again, leaning against the wall for support lest she give away the game. Flustered, the Imperial of the pair offered her a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Do you have anywhere to stay?"

She shook her head.

"No family? Friends?"

"Morrowind," she hiccupped. "My family is in _Morrowind_."

The guards exchanged a look before the first broke.

"We'll be done here by tomorrow, ma'am. Why don't we set you up in an inn tonight?"

She smiled through her tears, managing to look both grateful and shattered.

"You'd do that for me?" Just a little thing, but it would be enough to guilt him into paying for the room had he not been of the mind already.

As it was, he smiled consolingly, putting an arm over her shoulders.

"Yes, ma'am. Lets get you set up, hmm?"

With a last, lingering glare at his partner, he picked up her bags and led her down the street.

* * *

It was funny, Hanarai mused, kicking her legs over the edge of the copper tub. In her youth she'd played with all sorts of humans. And she'd found that while amusing for a short while, they were never very satisfying. They had a tendency towards naivety and useless violence. Jealousy was more common than not, whether it drove the man in question to tears or madness. And they were always gone so quickly it began to make her uncomfortable. There was something very wrong about looking at a creature so young at the end of its life.

She knew better than to start that old game up again. It would only lead to an abrupt, awkward end. But somehow, that was the beauty of it. If she were to seduce her Imperial, she'd have only a few years to wait before he died. In that time, it was possible she could get to know other, more powerful members of the guild. And with his death, perhaps they would even comfort her in her _grief_.

Giggling at the thought, she leaned over the edge of the tub, searching for her chocolates.

To have the entire Dark Brotherhood beneath her thumb… The very thought was exciting. Because the Dark Brotherhood had a tendency of being _very_ influential in politics and Hanarai _loved_ politics.

It was like an exhilarating game of bluff, learning how to play each man against his own desires, a constant litany of split second decisions— when to lean forward, make eye contact, look away, bite her lip, laugh, cry… _Brilliance_.

That dotty old emperor was absolutely useless. But _Ocato_… if she could get close to _him_.

Hanarai laughed at the thought. It was farfetched, but possible. Though it _would_ take the better part of a century to worm her way in.

What would father say if she gained control of an _empire?_ That certainly beat out her brother's stupid ebony mines at any rate. Not that she imagined they'd be producing much with the abolition movement.

_That_ was the epitome of useless, honestly. _Beast_ races, they called them, and yet they could not be used as _beasts_.

Not that it was any of her concern. She had more than enough willing helpers.

Grinning, she leaned over to pluck a chocolate from its box. A hot bath, some nice wine, a good plan of attack, chocolate…

_Bliss._

There was the little matter of _what_ exactly she was going to do while those boys cleaned up her house. She was too tired to play with Modryn. His idea of fun usually consisted of either killing things, or practicing _how_ to kill things.

Hanarai pursed her lips, realizing she didn't really have many friends in Chorrol. It _was_ bad form, after all, to keep one's toys in the vicinity of one's husband. There'd been a mer once, but come to think of it, she really hadn't seem him in ages.

Frowning, Hanarai realized she was on her own tonight _and_ in a strange inn to boot. Bloody Gadayn and his messes.

* * *

Lucien glared at the road, wincing with every thundering step of Shadowmere's hooves as she pounded down the road.

Drinking had _not helped._

He'd known it wouldn't, but at the time he hadn't been thinking of the repercussions. Merely of the fact that he had been pushed _far_ past his breaking point, he was in near constant pain, hadn't slept in ages and lately he was being forced into doing things _far_ below his station.

Add to that for some reason he was being sent to Chorrol to facilitate the _saving_ of a life? Madness. Pure madness. He had no idea how much that idiot had paid Ungolim, but it must have been enough to buy a kingdom. This wretched contract went against everything they stood for.

The Dark Brotherhood was meant to inspire _fear_, for Sithis' sake. They were agents of death, destruction and _chaos_.

They were _never_ intended to help little old ladies across the street and chase off other assassins when some idiot didn't pay his debt on time.

He hissed, blowing air from between his teeth as his headache reached massive proportions. This was _not_ turning out to be a good day. There was no way he was going to do _anything_ beyond what it was he'd been sent to do.

Negotiate with debting idiot.

Kill debting idiot's mother.

Send someone off to collect debting idiot.

And perhaps, if he weren't aggravated to exhaustion by that point, he'd poke through that Dunmer woman's house and see if he couldn't find something of interest. She certainly seemed to be the sort that would keep letters and such. Perhaps even a few of them would contain rather… interesting tidbits.

Tidbits that could, no doubt, be used against her in some way.

Lucien smiled at the thought, before the angle of sunlight on the sign pointing towards Chorrol set his brain alight. He swore and squeezed his eyes shut, casting a soft healing spell to help with the pain.

He was a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, for Sithis' sake. He should be in his nice dark ruin, under a nice cool pile of blankets, hiding from the world right now.

Bloody Ungolim and his messes.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Beware as I now steal Pheonicia's semicolons. Muahahaaha!

* * *

The Imperial guard from the afternoon before escorted her back to her house the next morning, looking nervous the entire way. Hanarai, on the other hand, couldn't be more cheerful. It took a real effort to look miserable. The sun was shining, Gadayn was dead and she'd plumped a little over vacation, the lovely black dress she'd bought draping beautifully over her hips.

Still, she pressed on, trying not to grin beneath her mourner's veil, sniffling every so often to keep the guard on edge.

"Allow me," he said as they reached the house, opening the door for her.

"You're so sweet," she whispered in a voice that sounded as though she'd spent all night crying. "Thank you."

"There were letters on the floor when… we were called." He stood by the door even as he came inside, looking _very_ uncomfortable. "We set them on the table here. Your messenger has a key?"

She nodded and sniffled.

"He's such a nice boy and I get so many letters. I don't like to be a bother, so I gave him a key." She looked up. "He likes to come early, you know. And we're not always up when he arrives."

_We. _Oh, bugger. She'd have to react to that slip, wouldn't she? Pretending to choke back tears, Hanarai pulled a slip of black silk from her pocket.

"It's just me now, isn't it?" she whispered, making sure to crack her voice the moment before she realized whom exactly the black silk had belonged to.

_Falcar_.

For a moment, his scent wound around her like fog. And that _did_ sting a little, worry blossoming under her breastbone like a great, sickly flower.

"Are you going to be alright, ma'am?" the guard asked softly, pressing a tentative hand to her shoulder.

"I'll manage, I think. Though I doubt I'll sleep at all tonight."

"Maybe you should go out. Find some company?" he suggested. "I'm sure there's plenty who would… share your grief. It's not healthy for you to be alone just now, you know."

Behind her veil, Hanarai glared. What _was_ it with these bloody Imperials lately? Had she suddenly been struck hideous? Caught some sort of disease unaware? If she had, she'd blame it entirely on Falcar. Bloody mer needed a good blaming, running off like that with barely a word.

"No," she said instead. "No, I don't think I could stomach company just now. It's bad enough seeing Gadayn's things and knowing…" she paused for dramatic effect, choking on fake tears, "knowing he's not coming home."

"I'm very sorry for your loss, ma'am," the Imperial murmured. "I'll come by tomorrow, see how you're fairing."

And with that, he left her to her grief, gracefully exiting the room. Hanarai kept up the charade until she was sure he was out of earshot, before irritably sweeping off the veil.

What was the point in mourners wearing such a stifling, useless garment? Had she _really_ been in mourning, she'd wear… well, it would depend on who had died, actually. But it certainly wouldn't be _black_. How depressing.

Even if it did fit rather well after her week of indulgences.

Making a mental note to write Synderius and thank him for the wine and chocolate, Hanarai scooped her letters from the table and made her way upstairs, sniffing gingerly.

Those guards had done a very good job. Or else her lingering frost spell had kept Gadayn from stinking up the house. Everything smelt as fresh and clean as it had when she left. Now all she had to do was box up his useless junk. But that was a task for later. There was a Bosmer merchant in the city she knew she could get a good price from, but right now she couldn't so much as stand the _sight_ of a Bosmer. Just thinking of Gadayn and his constant messes left her feeling itchy and unclean.

"Oh, bugger," she muttered to herself as a thought occurred to her. "I'm going to have to go _visit_ you, aren't I?"

"_Well it _would_ be polite. You _did_ kill me_."

Hanarai turned on the stairs to see the shimmering figure of what was recently her husband glaring at her, arms crossed, a few steps below. He looked absolutely wretched; his blond hair was in disarray, eyes filmy and colorless.

"And you _weren't_ planning to do the same to me?"

She watched as he pursed his lips in that annoying way of his, moving his hands to his hips.

_"_That_ was different."_

"I fail to see how." Turning on her heel with a shrug, she marched back up the stairs. "Though keeping that heart in the basement? Gadayn, _honestly_."

"_Perhaps I _wanted_ you to find it," he snapped, following after her. "Did you consider that?"_

"I always did suspect you were a bit touched," Hanarai said, smirking.

"_Touched?_" Gadayn sputtered. "Touched? _You're the one sleeping with Necromancers and murderers and gods only know what else!_"

"And you were not?"

_"No!"_

She pushed open the door to her room, turning to glance back at him, a brow arched.

"That alchemist? The one up from Skingrad?"

_"She's exactly that! An alchemist."_

Hanarai shrugged and walked inside, shutting the door behind her just as Gadayn passed through it.

"You're more of a fool than I thought."

_"What do you mean by that?"_

Hanarai smiled, turning

"She's really quite fond of you now. Did you know she likes her men stiff and silent?"

_"Liar." _A pause and then,_ "How would you know, anyway?"_

Hanarai laughed, flopping down on the bed.

"How many friends do you have, Gadayn?"

_"Not as many as you, you whoring tart."_

And suddenly Hanarai's eyes turned cold and calculating as she rose from the bed and sent a sliver of a spell into him.

_"You can't do anything. I'm dead!" _The Bosmer snapped and stuck out his tongue, realizing a moment later why the room smelt of roses.

Soul trap.

Hanarai grinned wolfishly as behind him, the door locked, a deadly spell draping over it.

Telekinesis. Bloody Telvanni.

Gadayn crossed his arms, glaring.

_"You can't soul trap _people_, darling."_

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, pulling out one of Falcar's black soul gems. "I'm sure you'll make a _lovely_ pair of boots."

Bloody Necromancers. Gadayn growled and dropped through the floor. He'd rather not risk it just at the moment. His death had left him rather sore.

Hanarai watched him go with a deep-seated sort of satisfaction before moving back to the bed. The first letter she drew from the pack was simple— bearing no markings other than the seal on its back. She smiled, slitting the envelope and dumping out a note written in code.

* * *

_**H,**_

_**I hope this letter finds you well as this letter finds **_**me**_** with an insufferable woman hanging over my shoulder. Things are getting worse, as usual. Not only was there a cave-in in the most lucrative section of my mine, but some s'wit **_**freed my ogres.**

_**Not for long, of course. My guards took care of the intruder and the ogres he let free. Thank the gods it was the old group. **_**They**_**, at least, are properly trained. Getting them back into their cages only took a whistle and a bit of mutton. **_

_**Of course my wife, lacking any tact whatsoever, blames the entire incident me.**_

_**"No good will come of keeping such beasts locked up," she says. "One day they'll murder us both in our sleep."**_

_**As if I can't properly trap my own front door. They'd **_**never**_** make it through. And on the odd chance they **_**did**_**… Well, a beautiful woman dropped by recently and taught me a few rather unique spells. I'm sure they'll do the job perfectly. What a pity though, that beautiful woman hasn't returned. I even bought a few bottles of Shadowbanish wine for the occasion. Such a lovely vintage. It would be a shame to open it alone.**_

_**My apologies. The insufferable woman is dragging me off to supper. Lately it's become easier to nod and agree than stand and fight. However, I wonder if my beautiful lady knows a good silence potion…**_

_**G. D.**_

* * *

Hanarai smiled. For a filthy Hlaalu fetcher, there were times Gaelion Drad could almost pass as Telvanni. This wasn't one of them, of course, with him cowering away from his wife rather than making his point, but there was a _hint_ of potential in his perfect arrogance.

Soft spoken too.

Hanarai decided she rather liked that in a man. All this shouting lately was getting a little out of hand. Come to think of it, her Imperial had a rather pleasant voice. Deep and gravelly, though without that annoying mumble that often walked hand in hand with softer speech.

Unconsciously, she smiled before reaching for another letter. Falcar's, she realized, seeing her name in the mer's familiar script.

* * *

_**Hanarai,**_

_**Excuse my brevity; I worry our correspondence will fall into the wrong hands. By now I should be well out of Cheydinhal and safely within the bounds of the usual safe house, though I must ask you not to visit until I can be sure of your safety. Things are… rather uncomfortable at the moment.**_

_**By the way, I've found you something I know you'll like. It seems to enjoy lighting up like a bonfire at three in the morning to send me staggering across the room like a drunken, half mad idiot. You can see why it reminds me of you.**_

_**F **_

* * *

Well, that was certainly rather better news. Hanarai smiled to herself and began to hum a little tune, setting aside the rest of her letters in favor of her garden. It was a lovely day, after all, just on the first, crisping edge of autumn and she had a hoard of flowers just _begging_ to be picked. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Lucien knew a personal favor when he was thrust into the middle of one, and _this_ was most certainly a personal favor. There was no way this idiotic mockery of a contract had come from the Night Mother.

But it _had_ come from Ungolim. Which meant either way, he didn't have a choice in the matter. Sighing, Lucien strode from the street to the back of the man's house. It was a little before noon. Normally he'd never be seen out and about so early but for the fact Motierre had specifically requested he come at midnight.

See, Lucien wasn't the sort of man that took well to specific orders concerning person favors that went against guild policy. Ungolim's rather hurried contract had simply stated _twelve_, and here he was, a little before _twelve_.

Anything to make life more difficult.

But just as he was about to turn the knob, Lucien stopped, hearing a familiar crooked cadence floating on the breeze.

_"And so she fixed upon the nub, her pair of calipers dear. So thus began the twisted tale, of the worst pirate you'll ever fear."_

Lucien caught her before she could barrel on into the chorus, leaning over the half hazard stone wall with a seductive sort of grin.

"And so we meet again," he purred.

Hanarai glanced up.

"I was wondering when you'd arrive."

"You were expecting me?" he smirked and leaped over the wall. "How… _beautiful."_ This with a glance that could have been taken as a compliment.

But Hanarai barely looked up, even as he prowled around her.

"Nice to hear you think so."

Lucien stopped just behind her, fixing her with a calculating look she didn't turn to see before reaching forward, daring to run a finger over the back of her neck and through her fire petal red hair. Hanarai smiled and shivered, liking the feel of it and willing to loose that fraction of control.

Lucien wasn't fooled for a minute. She was feeling him out, searching for what it was that fueled his fire to better exploit him to his full potential. No point in acting like a blushing bride, after all, for a man that liked his women strong.

"You know, I would have thought your holiday in Cheydinhal would have lasted a few weeks longer. Or did you simply wear out your welcome?"

"Oh, I had presents to buy in the Imperial City and business here to return to," she and turned, finally setting down her bundle of flowers. "But as long as we're playing questions, I would know why you're following me."

Lucien chuckled.

"To be perfectly honest," he murmured, leaning down to purr it in her ear. "I'm not. I happen to be here on _business_."

"Business." Hanarai snorted and pulled a flower from her bundle, reaching up to pop it behind his ear. "You consider harassing poor girls business?"

"Do you not?"

Lucien stepped back and swept a hand through his hair, looking down at the coda flower as it fell.

As far as he knew, the plant only grew in Morrowind's swamplands. He spent an arm and a leg ordering his they made one of the most brilliant poisons he'd ever come across when mixed with nirnroot.

"Keep it," Hanarai said with a sleek smile. "Perhaps next time you'll taint your glasses with something less obvious."

Lucien laughed as Hanarai picked herself up.

"It seems I've underestimated you, madam." At her irritated look he leaned close, until there was barely an inch between them. "_Hanarai_."

Hanarai contemplated paralyzing the silly little Imperial for a moment but decided against it. She _did_ rather like the idea of owning the Dark Brotherhood after all. And if she were honest, his attention was rather… sweet.

"How rude of you to use my name so freely when you have not given your own," she snapped playfully, picking her flowers up from the ground.

Lucien watched her, wondering if she could be trusted with his real name. He found a certain satisfaction in making his lovers scream. But to make _this_ woman cry out, to hear _his _name on those wicked lips…

"I'm surprised your many friends have not told you already."

She waved a hand to distract him as she began to work his hair tie free with a carefully arched telekinesis.

"My little murderer is an idiot. He should have known which assassin was in the area."

"You'll find assassins notoriously hard to track."

Hanarai laughed, cocking a brow at him.

"Well, you're certainly easy enough to find. I can't seem to be rid of you."

Lucien laughed, clapping a hand over his heart.

"I'm wounded. You've not had the patience to hear so much as my name and you'd have me gone already?"

She smirked.

"I've heard enough from you, I think. _Will_ you tell me your name, or shall I slip off to put these in some water and give you time to think of one?"

Clever, _clever_ girl. Lucien grinned, deciding he quite liked this woman.

"Lucien Lachance," he said with a dramatic bow. Which happened to be all the opportunity Hanarai needed to work out the last knot in his hair ribbon. Laughing as it fell in a curtain over his face, she snatched it from the air.

Lucien jerked upright with a growl, reaching back for his tie, assuming it'd simply fallen free. It was about then he realized— stuck in a ridiculous position, one hand holding his gathered hair— Hanarai was using it to bind together her flowers.

"You little minx." He tried to make it sound threatening, but there was laughter in his words.

Hanarai grinned that sweetly crooked smile and darted back inside.

Such a silly Imperial, covered in hair. He and Gadayn _belonged_ together.

* * *

Outside, Lucien watched the door shut and shook his head. When he got home, he was going to enchant a ribbon that would set all would-be ribbon thieves on fire… or something equally vile.

Smiling to himself, Lucien stooped to pick up the single forgotten flower from the ground before vaulting over the wall once more.

Striding to Motierre's door, he kicked it open for no better reason than he could, making a hell of a racket as he strode inside. He was not pleased, after all, and displeased assassins weren't meek, quiet creatures that crept in at midnight.

No. Displeased assassins kicked the damn door down.

Lucien chuckled to himself, pushed over a table for good measure and bounded up the stairway to his right.

"Oh, Motierre!" he called. "Won't you come out and play?"

* * *

"_That was my assassin!" _Gadayn shouted, whipping around the room in wide, furious circles.

"Oh was it?" Hanarai asked absently, searching for her veil. "I hadn't realized."

"_Hadn't realized? You… you…"_ And when the words wouldn't come properly, he settled for pointing a shaking, white knuckled hand in her direction. "_YOU."_

"Gadayn, you know better than to talk when your head's empty."

_"Doesn't do his bloody job and then goes about sleeping with my wife! I'll kill him! I'll tear him apart!"_ Gadayn bellowed in a voice made tinny with death, before barreling towards the door.

It had generally the same effect as a very small fly attacking a very large window. Gadayn bounced off, clear across the room, before charging the door again.

Hanarai watched this with some amusement, having located her veil on the stairs. He tried three more times before collapsing in an exhausted pile of ectoplasm at the foot of the stairs.

_"Do you hate me so much?"_ the little puddle asked, staring up at her with what had once been soulful blue eyes.

"I haven't blocked the door," she said blithely, stepping over him. "That's entirely your doing."

_"All those_ men_, Hanarai?"_ There was a soft heartbreak in his voice.

But she simply smiled and opened the door as easily as you please.

"You knew about those when you married me."

And with a cheerful wave, flowers in hand, she headed for the undercroft.

* * *

Lucien found Motierre in a disgusting, quivering bundle beneath the bed, blatantly obvious even from the door. Feeling rather wicked today, he grinned and crossed the room in a few giant strides, paralyzing Motierre the instant he reached under the bed before pulling him out.

If this ever got back to Ungolim, the ugly little mer was going to be _livid_. To which Lucien would feign ignorance, forcing him to slip and admit in at least some small way, he _was_ misusing his power.

Tossing Motierre onto the bed, Lucien twirled the nearby chair out from under its little table and sat down, just as the spell wore off. The older man curled back into the wall, staring at him with wide eyes, panic stricken.

Lucien smirked.

"Care to discuss business?"

"Are… are you Dark Brotherhood?" he managed despite chattering teeth. "He said you wouldn't come until midnight."

"I haven't got all day to wait for you. There are _actual_ contracts I should be executing, you know." Pleased with Motierre's reaction to the _executing_, he went on. "This plan of yours cannot continue without the taking of a life, you realize. The Brotherhood is not in the habit of saving erring debtors."

"My mother. Ricidik said my mother would be payment enough."

Ricidik. Lucien paused for a moment before recognizing it as one of Ungolim's false names.

"Where can I find this woman of yours, hmm?" he asked and leaned forward, draping himself over the back of the chair like an incredibly dangerous cat.

* * *

Hanarai wound her way through the chapel undercroft, nodding to the ghosts as she went, making her way for Gadayn's body. He looked rather lovely for a corpse. His head and neck had been positioned very carefully so that it was almost impossible to tell it'd been broken, his hair was combed and pulled back, a bit of magic resting over his skin to make it look as though blood still flowed beneath the surface. Whomever it was that had taken in his body had spent a good deal of time making the transition from life to sudden death as bearable as possible.

Wondering if she didn't have an admirer amongst the chapel followers, Hanarai settled her softly glowing bouquet beneath his folded hands and sat down on the stool that had been left for her.

Thank the gods she only had to do this once. What a useless, boring endeavor, sitting next to an empty corpse. She sighed and leaned her head against the cool stone of the platform, closing her eyes for a moment, and thinking of happier things.

Like letters and wine and chocolate eyed assassins.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: I am stealing every last one of Pheonicia's semicolons to write this chapter.

* * *

Time was of the essence.

There were no words to describe how much Lucien hated that phrase and everything it implied.

Motierre had gotten himself into trouble, so of course they sent _him_ to sort it out. Well, he'd killed the man's nearly dead mother— more mercy than murder— and now he _had to _return to Cheydinhal to assign the rest of this and a hundred other contracts.

Let one of the newer recruits ferret the idiot out of the city. He had more important duties to tend to. And however much he'd love to return to Chorrol and _tend to_ Hanarai, he couldn't.

Which put him in a very foul mood indeed.

Glaring at the world in general, Lucien made his way past the Roxey Inn and stopped, intrigued at the cacophony of noise issuing from the ramshackle building.

Ignoring the Imperial Forrester horse sitting just beside the door, Lucien slipped into his shadows and stepped inside.

"Calm down, you crazy old woman!" A thick build Nord was shouting. "What in the hell's gotten into you?"

Lucien sidled closer just as she held up the latest Black Horse Courier.

**EMPEROR AND HEIRS ASSASSINATED!**

* * *

Hanarai frowned at the preist, not quite understanding the problem.

"He _was_ human, dear."

The preist stared at her as though she'd grown a third arm.

"He's _dead!_ His heirs have all been killed, the dragon fires blown out—" he spun, tearing at his hair. "Everything's coming to an end!"

Standing to one side, she watched the chubby little Breton flutter and fret, still not all together certain why the course of nature was suddenly a problem.

"All things do," she said at last, patting his arm. "By now one would think you'd expect this sort of thing."

* * *

This was _not_ turning out to be the best of weeks, Modryn decided, staring at the overgrown field, his back to the wall of his house. Not only had he lost the position he'd worked so hard for, inadvertantly sent Viranus Donton off to his death, but now the entire empire was theatening to crumble into ruin.

Brilliant. An absolutly _brilliant_ week.

Modryn sighed and rested his head in his hands. There was nothing to be done really, and so no point in dwelling on it. But he couldn't help feeling increadibly guilty.

Bloody Blackwood company.

* * *

Hanarai creapt around the corner of the little house, dressed in Modryn's stolen tunic and a simple pair of black breeches. She'd come here for a few reasons, the most important being that Gadayn was moping about the house, dropping the temperature to nearly freezing. She'd have to do something to perk him up a bit.

A good soultrap spell would work. Problem being the little bugger had gotten into the walls and she couldn't _get_ at him.

So she'd decided to go visiting, thinking it would get the little mer angry enough to come out. And if it didn't, well, she hadn't visited Modryn for quite a while. Spells, she knew, only went so far in battle.

Not that she intended to go into battle. It was simply nice to have such skills handy. After all, she knew many a noble who'd been killed with a sharp sword and a well aimed silence spell.

"Modryn?" she ventured, peeking around the corner of the house. He didn't look very receptive to company at the moment, sitting there like the world was falling down around him.

But he smiled and turned at the sound of his name, gesturing to the spot next to him.

"Wasn't expecting to see you so soon."

"When do I ever let that husband of mine keep me away?"

A flicker of a smile as Modryn leaned his head back against the wall, twining his fingers through hers.

"You see rather off today," she pressed carefully. "What's happened?"

"Donton's dead." There was an odd look in his eyes as he said it— desperation, depression, greif. She almost flinched to see it, not used to Modryn as anything other than the epitome of control.

"The woman or…?"

"Her son." It was barely a whisper.

Hanarai did flinch then. Ever since Darius Donton had died, Modryn had acted as father to those boys. And now with both of them dead…

"I suppose now is a bad time?" she asked and jumped as Modryn sent the small shock spell she'd taught him rippling into her hand.

"Now," he said with a wicked grin, "is the _perfect_ time."

* * *

"It makes me uncomfortable," Lucien snapped, pacing the floor of Vicente's quarters, the vampire continuing on in his meticulous sorting of contracts.

"There's nothing to be done about it, Lucien," he said without looking up from his piles. "Pacing certainly won't help."

"Keeps me occupied." He glared as he turned, pacing to the far wall.

Silence for a long moment before Lucien spoke again.

"I don't like this."

Vicente sighed and leaned back in his chair, having finished his sorting.

"You're worrying for nothing."

Rounding on him, Lucien crossed the room to slam his hands down on the centuries old table.

"_Nothing?_ Half our contracts come from angry nobles, Valtiere. Without them, where are we?"

Vicente only shrugged and leaned his head in his hands, tapping a finger absently in the hollow of his cheek.

"Feast or famine, there will always be call for murder. These may be lean times, perhaps, but it's not as though the Brotherhood will fall."

And that was enough to send Lucien pacing again— ladder wall to stone slab, over and over again.

Vicente sighed.

"Would you _stop_, for Sithis' sake? You're accomplishing nothing but wearing a hole in my floor. Go back to your fort and sulk, Lachance."

Slowly, he came to a stop and turned. But Vicente's face betrayed no emotion. It was like expecting to see recognition in a corpse. After twenty years training with this man, he knew better.

"Give the rest of Motierre's contract to that new Imperial."

"Your idiot protégé?" Vicente asked with a smirk. "I'm becoming rather fond of her, actually."

Lucien frowned.

"Oh?"

In his experience, a smiling Vicente never boded well.

"She didn't realize I was a vampire."

Lucien laughed, tension easing from the flat of his shoulders.

"And how exactly did she justify your appearance?"

Vicente chuckled and turned to retrieve his book from the edge of the table.

"Collywobbles," he said, voice thick with amusement. "She thought I had _collywobbles_."

* * *

Hours later found Modryn's house a complete and total mess. Their training sessions were rarely contained, but this one had been exceptionally… sprawling. The ceiling had frozen solid somewhere after Modryn's mace lost a spike; the mattress had pulled completely from the bed and onto the floor, one corner badly singed. Even the table was missing a leg, standing by luck and pure stubbornness as a disturbingly green fire crackled merrily in the corner of the room.

Hanarai had draped herself over one edge of the mattress, head resting on the floor, clothing torn to shreds, the broken neck of a wine bottle dangling from her fingers. Modryn lay with his head on her stomach, his crest crushed flat and jumbled in ten different directions, barely covered by the haphazard sheet draped over his stomach.

The house smelt of sex and spilt wine, and the odd, muddy scent that comes from excessive magic in a confined space.

Grinning to herself, Hanarai reached for the half filled wine glass, and realizing she couldn't move without dislodging her companion, nearly spilled it yanking it towards her with still trembling telekinesis.

If only she had some chocolates, this scene of sin and debauchery would be complete.

* * *

Lucien lay on the floor of his quarters in Farragut, staring up at the ceiling, his head pillowed on his arms. There was a dwindling stack of contracts on his desk that he was ignoring in favor of a few more wicked plots.

Hanarai…

Those crimson eyes haunted him, lit with laughter as she stole his hair ribbon. This was beginning to become the rule to their meetings. Lucien idly scratched his jaw, listening to the _scritshik_ noise his nails made against a few days' worth of stubble.

He'd been too busy to remember to find another razor. To be honest, between the traitor in the guild, Ungolim's suspicions and Hanarai there hadn't been much time for _anything_.

Hanarai…

That woman was a problem unto herself. But if he could just get close to her, he could win her.

He knew he could. There wasn't a woman alive that could resist a Lachance's charm, much less _his_. It was nearly a magic within itself. One sentence, one _word_ and he could have women falling at his feet. Hanarai was simply more resistant than most. But Lucien was confident that even if she'd slept with every man and mer in Cyrodill, she'd never found one to match him.

Smirking to himself now, he traced idle patterns in the air in the wispy, lavender scented circles of a silence spell.

Oh yes, he would have this woman.

Again and again and again…


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

There was no denying it. This was quite possibly the single most brilliant plan Lucien had had all week. It was obvious he could not poison Hanarai's wine. She'd simply move it into his own glass. But as the displacement of poison required liquid…

Apples. He'd use his apples. He knew a brilliant aphrodisiac— odorless, tasteless— that crept into the very meat of the fruit.

She'd never notice.

Perfect! Perfect. Lucien sprang up from the floor to pace about the room. He was brilliant. An absolute genius. He wouldn't kill this woman. Oh, no. He'd seduce her, win her, make her scream for him, turn her life upside down and _shatter her_. It'd be marvelous, and possibly the most satisfying escapade he'd had in weeks.

Lucien grinned and whistled to himself as he paced, listing in his head the ingredients he'd need.

Apples, obviously. Blackberries, a few of the yellow cinnabar polypore caps, boiled elf cup caps and distilled tiger lily nectar… Fire salts to heat the blood, holly berries to negate the taste.

Perfect. Absolutely brilliant. Lucien laughed, quite pleased with his planning and sprang up onto the ladder. He had shopping to do.

* * *

Hanarai flopped down onto the rug beside her fire, too contentedly filthy to take the bed. A taste of Modryn had been just what she needed, and apparently it'd given Gadayn the insane notion of winning her back. When she'd returned, she'd found the house quite a bit warmer and brighter, a fire crackling merrily in the bedroom grate, autumn sunshine streaming through the windows.

What an impossibly beautiful day.

Grinning, she stood up, not trusting the remnants of her telekinesis on fragile things, and retrieved her stack of letters and ink from their spot on the bedside table. A moment later she was lying on her belly before the fire once more, reading the first letter in the stack.

* * *

_**Hanarai,**_

_**No, these last few weeks do **_**not**_** find me well. These idiot abolitionists have ruined me. My mines are empty and with the recent press for replacement workers, there's absolutely no one to be found. Never mind such a thing would be essentially paying for a service I've already purchased.**_

_**Your mother is doing well, however. Last I saw, her Tel had grown a few more feet . A new shipment of clothing, I would assume. Or else she's finally gotten that statue she was after. Useless thing. I do **_**not**_** believe it's Dwemer at all. More likely it's a bit of a metal barrel that sat too close to lava for too long. But, as it has "inscriptions" I've not heard the end of it. I would be extremely grateful were you to send a distraction. Anything to keep her from rambling on about her new **_**artifact**

_**Fond wishes,**_

_**Llero Arvel**_

* * *

Hanarai turned to look at her desk, concentrating on keeping the stack of clean paper together as it whistled towards her. Smiling as it finally landed, she dug about for her quill before tucking in to write._**

* * *

**_

_**Father,**_

_**Actually, I believe I have a solution to your problem. Here in Cyrodiil, we have many ways of getting around the abolitionist movement. Have you considered training ogres to work your mine? Or dark guardians? They're very clever if well trained. I happen to know an Imperial fellow with a few he isn't using.**_

_**Unfortunately, I'm not sure I have anything Mother hasn't seen twenty times before. Certainly nothing that would distract her for very long. Though one of my friends recently mentioned his discovering an Ayleidic crown. Would that do, do you think?**_

_**Respectfully,**_

_**Hanarai**_

* * *

Obviously, her father hadn't gotten the letter about Gadayn yet. Fair enough. Hanarai folded her reply up and set it to one side, taking a moment to reply to Lord Dren's before moving on to the next.

* * *

Even though he had an annoying drinking song stuck in his head, Lucien couldn't be happier. He'd finished and assigned every one of the contracts on his desk, bought or stolen the ingredients he needed and was now cheerfully setting about poisoning his apples.

He'd turned the entire floor of the room into a lab. All around him there were simmering pots and cauldrons brewing, smoke winding up from his various fires to escape from the open trap door.

Grinning, Lucien sprang between two pots, mortar and pestle in hand, fishing out the boiled elf cup caps to immediately mix with the thick ooze he'd made from heated blackberries and the distilled tiger lily nectar. The impurities he had left would make a lovely poison, but not today.

Humming the chorus now, Lucien ground down the elf cup caps and covered the mortar and pestle with a large bowl to keep in the heat, before springing off to find his bag of fire salts.

Lucien threw them into the bottom of a bowl, ladling in the water he'd used to boil the elf cup caps. Stirring slowly, he watched the fire salts melt, coating the surface of the water with a dangerous, acidic sheen.

The holly berries were next, pitted and ground into a paste. Lucien had to stir quickly now to keep the mass from congealing. Winding his way between the two cauldrons, and dodging an open fire, he set the bowl on the table and continued stirring, pulling out the still hot mixture.

He threw them all together then, and continued stirring, moving very fast as he dumped them as quickly as he could into an empty cauldron and immediately ducked.

Some lingering chemical in the fire salts exploded in a single, caustic burst of smoke and flame before the mixture finally settled in an appealing apple green. Lucien rose from his crouch with a devilish grin, moving to haul the barrel full of apples over to the edge of the pot.

It wasn't a very useful mixture, honestly. He'd rarely had occasion to use it, as his charms were infallible. But there were little things he could do with it, small-scale havoc he could wreak.

One by one he tossed the apples in and out so quickly his hands became a greenish-black blur. Out of the barrel and into the bowl. And then, for good measure, out of the bowl, back into the cauldron, and onto a rack.

A second coat of poison was always a good idea.

A second coat of aphrodisiac was wickedly brilliant idea.

* * *

Lucien crept down the well ladder and into the sanctuary, sprinting in shadows for the kitchen. Once there, he stole every apple and replaced it with one of his own before leaving the kitchen for Vicente's room to drop off his contracts.

It was always a good idea to keep the family on their toes, after all.

Grinning to himself at his own cleverness _and_ the fact he'd seen the surface of his work desk for the first time in a month, Lucien snuck out of the sanctuary and made his way outside the city walls.

He had _visiting_ to do.

* * *

Hanarai frowned at the letter in her hands, unsure whether a reply was in order or not.

* * *

_**My Lovely Lady Hanarai,**_

_**Please forgive my trespass against you this last week. I fear my fight for your honor has disgraced you. Know that I am sincere in this. It was foolish of me to take on such a man in battle. I should have expected his trickery would be my downfall. No doubt this is why you employ such a man to protect you. In a fair fight, any man may be defeated, but that scoundrel would have them on their knees without so much as a warning he'd begun. **_

_**While I am sorry for whatever embarrassment I may have caused you, I would plead you hire a proper knight to ensure your safety. Such a man as yours cannot be trusted. He would steal from you all he can, as often as he can, until he grows tired of such games. No doubt you will deny this now, being so sweet and innocent to the wicked wiles of men, but I beg of you, **_**trust me**_**. I have seen his ilk a thousand times before. They are the first to turn on their allies in battle and the first to change sides at the sight of money. He is dangerous, my lady. Wash your hands of him as quickly and safely as you may.**_

_**Sincerest Apologies and Most Powerful Devotion,**_

_**Farwil Indarys, **_

_**Knight of the Thorn, **_

_**Son of Count Andel Indarys the Second.**_

* * *

No, she decided at length. This absolutely did _not_ deserve a reply. Though it was rather interesting, the mention of her _guard_ and her apparent innocence. Laughing at Farwil's own naivety, Hanarai rose from her spot before the fire and went to draw herself a nice bath. There was a second box of chocolates she hadn't opened yet, after all, and a lovely book she'd been meaning to read for ages. Her correspondence could wait. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: I have changed Vicente's note because I don't like the thought of my lovely vampire writing like a ponce. Also lets pretend he sleeps in a normal bed.

* * *

It was late when Lucien arrived in Chorrol— guards the only men out on the street, and even they were dozing at their posts. Grinning to himself, he strode through town, making his way for Hanarai's house, praying to Sithis he would find her asleep.

Lucien stood just outside, leaning over the little garden to peer in through the window. All was quiet. That grin widened just a little father as he slipped a spell between glass and frame, unlocking the window.

For a moment he simply stood there, listening. Nothing. A trap would have gone off already. Checking to make sure his chameleon spell was firmly in place, Lucien slipped in through the window and automatically crouched down, waiting.

Still nothing.

This was too easy.

A moment later he was raiding her stores, picking out good apples to replace with the bad. She'd have to eat _one_, at least, before they spoiled. And when she did, Lucien would make sure he was in the vicinity.

Perhaps with a nice bottle of wine.

Once he'd emptied his bag, he stopped and stood at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if he should risk it. She certainly wouldn't be expecting him _this_ time, after all...

Lucien smiled, and deciding it was worth the risk, made his way upstairs.

Hanarai was sleeping soundly, curled up and under the blankets, only a red tuft of hair visible. Smirking at that, Lucien made his way close to her, and as softly as he could, cast a silence spell. Hanarai snorted, swatted at him and curled farther under the covers.

Chuckling softly at his utter brilliance, Lucien noticed the pile of letters by the fire and sat down to read.

One from _F_ whoever that was, one from _G. D., _and another from her father. Lucien smirked to read Farwil's note. The boy had no idea how _dangerous_ he could be.

Neither, for that matter, did he have a clue about the Telvanni he was attempting to court.

Turning to glance behind him, Lucien made sure the infuriating woman was sound asleep before carefully easing the seal free from the paper of an envelope.

* * *

_**Hanarai,**_

_**Now that your fetcher of a husband is otherwise occupied, why don't you come down to the Imperial City for a while? I've got a few surprises I'll know you'll like. That and my Gladiator match is next Loredas. Believe me when I say you won't want to miss the celebration.**_

_**Synderius**_

* * *

Lucien resealed it with a soft heat spell before opening up another, this one tinted purple in a few oddly shaped spots._**

* * *

**_

_**Hanarai,**_

_**I've had a breakthrough! The potion? Your brilliant idea? It's not only feasible, but **_**finished**_**. You're a godsend, my dear. An absolute godsend. What would I do without you? You know how I feel about recipes in letters though, darling. Too easily lost or stolen. Though I'm sure you can find reason enough to come to Skingrad, what with your husband so constantly away. **_

_**Gird yourself,**_

_**Sinderion**_

* * *

_Gird_ yourself? Lucien snorted a chuckle at that, deciding it had to be some sort of insane inside joke he couldn't possibly fathom.

Another glance behind him assured Hanarai was still sleeping. And as Lucien resealed the alchemist's letter, he had a thought.

A wicked, _wonderful_ thought.

* * *

Cilias Atius, Lucien's latest recruit, staggered down the stairs and into the sanctuary. She'd nearly been beheaded by crypt zombies today, and then again by an axe wielding Orc bandit … Of course, she had been rather close to Malacath's shrine, so it was possible the Orc hadn't been a bandit at all.

Not that it mattered. Just now, all she really wanted was something to eat and a nice soft bed. Hopefully a nice soft bed butted up against a wall so Antoinetta Marie wouldn't kill her in her sleep.

That was a very depressing thought, being killed in one's sleep. Rather cowardly too, if you thought about it. On the part of the killer, of course. Not the sleeper. The sleeper was just horribly unlucky. Unless a vampire was doing the sneaking. Which was more than all right by her. That Valtieri could do as much sneaking as he liked with those long, pretty legs of his…

Clilias shook her had to clear the irritating thoughts away, accidentally shaking loose her mass of mud crab brown hair. Rather annoyed now, she turned to find her lost hair ribbon, but as it had apparently disintegrated or been stolen by gnomes, she was on her own.

It was about then she realized the entire sanctuary stunk… like garlic.

* * *

Vicente had not been in a good mood to begin with. He'd come back to his rooms earlier to find Lucien had come and gone, leaving a huge, sprawling pile of contracts over the entire surface of the table. Add to that, three recruits had failed to kill their marks properly today, and Antoinetta had come home with a taste for what was apparently garlic soup.

His headache was painful and unrelenting, and he was beginning to wish for a cool, dark hole to crawl into… or else something very large and very heavy to beat that idiot girl about the head with.

He settled writing a note to Ocheeva. Under normal circumstances, he'd deal with the problem himself, but just at the moment, he didn't trust himself not to _kill_ her as soon as look at her.

* * *

_**Damn that young fool Antoinetta and her experimental recipes! As if the stench of her cooking weren't bad enough, she's making yet another of her stews. The amount of garlic she uses could kill a horse let alone **_**me**_**. I've told her time and time again of the dangers this plant poses to me, but she has all the intelligence of a troll.**_

_**Please, Ocheeva, as mistress of this sanctuary, keep the idiot child on a tighter leash. I cannot be held accountable for my actions should she continue to disregard my safety. The Tenants state that one family member may not kill another, but need I remind you there is no restriction against draining her of a few odd pints of blood?**_

_**Vicente**_

* * *

Clilias balked. She really needed to see Vicente before she did anything. He'd lectured her last time about wandering off before the contract was announced complete. Something about muddling up his massive amounts of paperwork. And besides, she _needed _the contract money. She certainly wasn't well off anymore. Every septim earned was… another septim earned… or something. The point being Severius wasn't exactly about to pay her way in the world anymore.

"Oh, it bloody well figures," she muttered, glaring as she made her way down the hall. "Only remember to visit the vampire when he's having a horrible day. Good job, Clilias."

But maybe it wouldn't hurt to wait just a bit. After all, if Vicente were in a really foul mood… well, she'd just go get something to eat first. There was no harm in that, right? She'd get something simple and eat it outside to get away from the garlic stink, so that when she went down to visit Vicente, she'd have aired out enough not to give him a headache.

And maybe while she was in the kitchens she'd inquire as to why garlic soup was being made anyway.

* * *

Vicente gave up all scrap of dignity then, crawling into bed to bury himself under a heap of sweet-smelling pillows and sheets. There was no way in hell he was moving. Not until that stench was well and truly _out_ of the room. Because if he were to leave now, he was going to rip the head from the first person to trouble him. And the wrath of Sithis was _not_ something he wanted to deal with. Certainly not with a throbbing, garlic induced migraine.

Outside, he could hear the worried, hissing tones of an Argonian, but paid no mind to it. Ocheeva could risk coming through the trap door if she liked. He was _not getting up._

* * *

"Antoinetta?" Clilias asked, peeking around the corner and into the kitchen. "What are you making?"

The blond spun to fix her with a wicked, mischievous grin.

"Soup."

"Is it _edible_ soup?"

"Of course not."

Clilias blinked at her. On the best of days, Antoinetta worried her. This was not, apparently, one of Antoinetta's good days.

"What's it for?" she ventured, wondering if she'd get an actual response or another creepy half-answer.

"Vicente."

Another creepy half-answer then. But apparently her confused look was enough. Antoinetta laughed and turned back to stirring the pot.

"He said something rather rude about Lucien yesterday," she supplied.

"So you're going to _poison_ him?" Now she wasn't a very good judge of logic, especially after what she'd done to that Sintav boy, but that didn't seem like a sound plan to her in the least.

A poisoned Vicente was an _angry_ Vicente. And as far she knew, an _angry_ Vicente was a violent Vicente. That wasn't the sort of thing _she_ was willing to risk.

"What did he say?" she asked, taking an apple from the bowl on the table and inspecting it. "It couldn't have been _that_ horrible."

Antoinetta gave her a pointed look.

"He said Lucien was a self serving bastard with no mind for anyone but himself and that he'd sell the entire family if he thought he could get a good price."

Clilias winced and made to reply, but Antoinetta didn't give her the chance.

"That's simply _not _true," she continued. "Lucien is the kindest man I know. And besides that, he _loves_ me. He'd never sell the family away; he _knows_ how much they mean to me. Except Vicente, of course, the opinionated bastard. Let's see if we can't get him to come out of his high-and-mighty hole now, hmm?"

Clilias nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging way and took a big bite out of the apple in order to negate the need for speech. This woman was clever in her murders, though obviously insane. Clilias knew if push came to shove, she'd side with Vicente. She also knew that siding with Vicente meant she'd wake up dead… if that were possible.

But it wasn't as though Lucien were an option. He was pretty enough, she supposed, if one liked that sort of thing. To be frank, she preferred her men a bit taller, with nice, long legs and entrancing eyes…

Antoinetta was talking again, she realized, viciously stirring the pot as she went on about her lover. As far as Clilias was concerned, she could keep as many Imperials as she liked. Breton boys were far more worth the time and energy and Vicente blew all the rest of them away. Those times when his eyes flashed, the sound of his laugh, of his voice— that so-soft purr she adored…

Clilias took another bite from the apple, and starry eyed, thought perhaps she'd go visit with Vicente now.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Metaphors abound! More theft of semicolons and the subtle theft of Pheonicia's sand. JOY!

* * *

Hanarai woke feeling rather warm and comfortable. Much like she did on the rare occasions when Gadayn actually managed to keep his flailing limbs on his own side of the bed. Smiling at this, she turned and attempted to snuggle further into the covers. Except all she managed was the snuggling into of a very firm _hip_.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, showing no other sign that she'd actually woken.

_Black._

The hip in question was covered in very fine, black cotton… that smelled vaguely like the acrid smoke of a fire salt explosion. _That_ was a mistake she wouldn't make twice. When an alchemist said _duck_, you ducked. Often times a _tuck and roll_ was in order as well.

Hanarai closed her eyes, breathing in the not entirely unpleasant smell, trying to remember her assassin's name. Something Breton… Jadier… Louis… Lewen… _Lucien_. That was it! Lucien.

From above her, she felt the man move slightly, probably shifting to see if she'd woken up. And then there was a loud _crachik_— the first bite of a ripe, juicy apple.

_Her_ ripe, juicy apples.

Hanarai frowned into the fabric of his pants, debating upon which spell to use. She couldn't light him on fire; these sheets where her favorite sunshine yellow. Which meant she couldn't freeze him either as that tended to leave odd smelling stains. Lightening would scorch the bed as well… so what did _that_ leave? She needed something that would knock some sense into him without damaging the lovely covers he was currently stealing.

Smirking to herself, Hanarai thought of a spell. Pretending to move in her sleep, she tossed an arm over his thigh, pulling him closer. But just as she was about to let the spell loose, she felt an abrupt sort of lurch in her magicka.

The idiot fetcher had _silenced her_.

Rather peeved, she had to try hard to keep from gritting her teeth and giving herself away. Above her, the assassin only chuckled and bit off another hunk of _her_ apple, stroking a hand absently through her hair.

Well, two could play at this game.

Hanarai's smirk returned as she inched that arm up a little father, listening as Lucien hissed and reached down to pry her arm off. She let him, smiling sweetly with eyes shut as he tucked her back in.

Silently, she counted off three minutes in her head. As soon as the last second had ticked by, she moaned, soft and kittenish before arching to press herself against him. A moment later she had curled an arm dangerously high on his thigh. He pried it free, as she'd known he would, and so she flung it out, capturing both legs in her awkward half hug.

Egotist that he was, Lucien let it go and went back to his apple. She rather suspected he was reading as well, though she wasn't about to risk a look in the midst of her brilliant plan. Waiting until she was sure he had distracted himself, she moved her hand with another soft moan. Lucien laughed, running an ungloved hand through her hair with another _snap_ of the apple.

Which gave her a good idea of his position— book and apple both held in his left hand, his right free to pet and pry away wandering appendages. Hanarai smiled, pressed a finger into the sensitive slope of his thigh and followed the curve.

Lucien was obviously… interested.

But not fast enough to catch her hand in time. It slipped down just a little further before he could juggle both the book and the apple. She listened in satisfaction as the book dropped to the bed and Lucien snatched her hand away with a strangled sort of groan.

Telvanni, contrary to popular belief, were _not_ helpless once silenced. Though he was quite a clever boy if he'd managed to get all the way in here without her knowing it. Of course, she'd forgotten to trap her bedroom door again without Gadayn's constant paranoia to remind her, but the feat was still impressive.

Hanarai smirked like a cat with cream. The subtle pressure on her magicka was leaving. His spell had worn off and she'd managed to keep him far too distracted to renew it. Silently, Hanarai cast the shield spell her father had taught her and sat up with a yawn.

"Oh hello," she said, as if noticing him and his obvious attraction for the first time, hiding her irritation at the fact he hadn't even the courtesy to take off his boots.

That was _not_ the sort of greeting Lucien was expecting. He'd been hoping for shock, anger, at least _something_ to betray he'd beaten this woman at her own game. But she barely even batted a lash at finding him sprawled in her bed.

Minx.

Lucien smirked and reached down into the soft leather bag at his side, flicking an apple up and onto the back of his hand. He spun it between his fingers before holding it out to her, that perfect curve of the lips still in place.

"Apple?"

Hanarai leaned back, looking impish and utterly ravishable with her hair a tousled mess, the sleeve of her nightdress slipping down to bare the curve of a perfect, freckled shoulder.

"I only take _sweets_ from strangers."

The look in her eyes when she said it… it was only by force of will Lucien was able to keep himself from pouncing her on the spot— that mischievous, knowing stare testing the limits of his control. And watching him, Hanarai knew _exactly _what sort of woman held his fancy.

"You're certain?" Lucien purred. "They're _perfect_."

"Oh, really?" this said with the arch of a brow.

_Take a chance,_ something hissed at him. And so he threw the pit of his last apple into the bowl on the nightstand and took a bite from the tainted fruit in his hand, leaning forward as he swallowed to share the lingering juice.

Hanarai hadn't meant to kiss him.

She'd meant to pull away, to get up and gather her letters from the floor, to give herself enough time to cool off and collect her head. But the feel of his lips against hers, stubble scratching at her jaw, the taste of apple lingering in his mouth… she almost lost control.

Not that Lucien noticed.

Oh no. He hadn't dealt with enough Telvanni to know when one was having trouble keeping up her charade. When Hanarai pulled away, lips ever so slightly swollen, that devilish look still in her eyes, he thought he'd won. Until she laughed and leaned back, that damned sleeve slipping down a little further, showing a hint of something far more tempting.

"I've had better," she said with a throaty chuckle, gauging the look in his eyes.

His control was slipping. Had been since she'd woken up. And that apple… It'd been a daring risk; one he thought he'd win. But this woman was apparently as unaffected by the aphrodisiac as she'd been by the wine. Unless, of course, a taste simply wasn't enough.

Lucien smirked, that twist of the lips that drove women _mad_ and offered up the apple again.

"You'll find nothing is ever quite so _satisfying_ second hand," he purred and leaned in, only the apple between them.

Hanarai couldn't help herself. She smirked and reached up to take the apple, Lucien's fingers whispering over hers as she brought it to her mouth.

And it was undoubtedly the best sliver of fruit she'd ever tasted.

* * *

Clilias had never seen Vicente with his hair down. It looked so… soft. For a long moment this was her only concrete thought. Because Vicente had her pinned against the wall, wrists trapped at either side of her head, a leg between hers— presumably to keep her still. But if he thought she could form a sentence, much less a _thought_ in this position, he was horribly mistaken.

"Pardon?" she gasped, rather intelligently given the circumstances, totally lost in the way his eyes flashed with anger when she moved.

Whatever it was he'd asked before, he spat again, slamming her against the wall for punctuation. Somewhere in the back of her mind she understood this was not the calm, rational Vicente she was used to dealing with.

This was a hungry, irritated beyond all tolerance, just woken up from bed, ready to _kill_ Vicente.

But that thought was far too complex to process properly as her attention was focused on the ravenous fire burning in the pit of her stomach, her every thought was bent on one thing.

_His fangs are showing oh gods his fangs are showing I wonder what it feels like wonder what it'll take to steal that last scrap of control_

"Clilias."

It was more growl than actual speech and Clilias whimpered, torn between shrinking back and arching forward. And oh gods she wanted everything and nothing and why didn't he just bite her, take her, _ravish her?_

_"_Vicente, I can't think when you do that," she managed at last, her voice strangled. Had there been a sane fragment of thought left it would have applauded her skill in forming a complete sentence.

But he only laughed, a deep rumble that shook her to the very core and pulled her forward until she was pressed flush against him, neck arched, faced pressed into his shoulder. Clilias would have begged had she been able to form words, but then those long musician's fingers were at her neck, tilting her head just so.

A flash of pain, twin pinpricks of black on the edges of her consciousness… Sudden pleasure, a white-hot light that sprawled out from her very core, consuming her until she couldn't stand, couldn't breathe. Not enough to cry out, Vicente's name barely a whisper at her lips.

_Vicente oh gods you beautiful creature don't stop don't stoppleasedon'teverstop_

With a rough snap he pulled her closer, slammed her back. It was impossible to tell; her world was spinning out of control, drawing her down.

_I'd happily drown…_

And there was nothing but that soul-shattering _burn_, all hint of chill slaughtered by the merry blaze, setting her alight until the only color she could see was that perfect, startling white.

And then there was nothing. The fire banked and she crumpled without it, falling to a puddle on the floor. Vicente pulled away, moving faster than she could see. He was talking again, barely heard through the ringing in her ears, a soothing, half panicked drone.

Apologies, she realized, something about garlic. Clilias opened her mouth to tell him to stop, to beg for more, an eternity of _this_. But before she managed even the summoning of a word, she passed out, the taste of apples lingering in her mouth.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

All things told Lucien was rather pleased with himself. Not only had his apples worked like a charm, but the night had been far better than he'd expected. Grinning at his muscles' protests, Lucien reached over to pull Hanarai close, but hit only chilled, empty sheets.

At first he thought he'd simply missed, but the opening of a bleary eye found the bed empty save for him and a crinkled sheet of paper he'd apparently rolled on sometime during the night.

Morning, he amended with a glance out the window. Judging by the strip of light on the floor, it was a little past noon. Frowning now, Lucien pushed himself up and looked at the note in his hand.

* * *

_**L,**_

_**Wonderful conversationalists should not boast of sexual prowess.**_

_**H**_

* * *

There was a subtle sinking in the pit of his stomach as his ego slowly deflated.

She thought he…

Anger flared and Lucien crumpled the note without thinking, sending it to the far side of the room in a smoldering, smoking pile.

He knew damn well she hadn't gone off dissatisfied. For Sithis' sake, every muscles in his godsdamned body ached after last night! With an aggravated growl, Lucien rolled out of bed and went searching for his clothes. He was going to give that woman _sexual prowess_. He'd sexual prowess her right up the—

Biting down hard on the thought, Lucien struggled into his pants, realizing as he did that he was going to have to crawl under the bed for his boots.

This was _not_ the start of a good day.

* * *

Hanarai lay curled in the arms of the statue, her cloak a comforting weight around her, newspaper half folded in her hands. It hadn't been just some mad little Breton's hallucination. Apparently, the emperor really _was_ dead. Well, this was interesting. But the sort of thing you'd think they'd have come to expect, throwing a perfectly good empire to Imperials.

This little difficulty was going to be rather interesting in the scheme of things. No emperor meant that lovely mer was running things. Which was how it had always been really, but that was neither here nor there.

Hanarai smiled to herself and curled further into her lovely, unseasonably warm niche, reaching down for the bag at her side where she kept her letters. It'd been rather careless of her to leave them right out in the open like that. Her oh-so-Imperial intruder had no doubt gotten into them while she was sleeping.

Lucien… That almost seemed like the sort of name you'd give to the small, scruffy dog that follows you home from the market and just happens to be the master of the _hungry baby_ look.

Laughing at the thought, she carefully folded up her newspaper, slipping it into the soft leather bag as she sorted through her mail in the other hand.

An invitation to Skingrad, another to the Imperial City. _That_ one she was rather more inclined to accept. But then, this wasn't the appropriate time to _bump into_ the High Chancellor. He'd be out of his mind with the sudden crisis. Even if the poor mer always had been running the country, with the emperor gone, everyone would be very hostile.

Perhaps in a few weeks she'd invite him out to dinner. He certain _would_ need a reprieve. And if she let it lay at simply dinner she was likely to get further with the man.

Oh, but bugger all, he'd been the Arch-Mage, hadn't he? Which meant he was very familiar with Telvanni politics.

Hanarai frowned, absently chewing her lip as she wondered if she could hide her house allegiance. Such things tended to be terribly obvious. More often than not, Hanarai could walk down the street and pick out all the filthy Hlaalus and clever Drens as they went about their way.

Bloody Imperial run countries. Cyrodiil had no great houses to speak of; no wonder it was falling apart at the seams.

Irritated now at the whole situation, Hanarai discarded the thought of visiting Ocato at all. Perhaps in a few weeks when everyone became used to the idea of a properly run country, but not now.

Hanarai began inspecting the seals on her letters. He'd have read the open ones, she knew, but as far as tampered seals went he'd only opened two. Just as she was settling in to open a new one, she heard a door slam and someone storming down the street… the apparently _empty_ street.

Casting a detect life spell she saw her Imperial, invisible and livid, his shoulders squared so hard she imagined she could balance a board over them. It cheered her up rather well to see it.

Honestly, she didn't know what he'd expected. Was she supposed to be _impressed_ by his mere forty-year experience? Perhaps that sort of thing was highly prized by Imperial women, but in her _three hundred_ year experience, she'd had far better.

Though he _had_ been good for an Imperial.

* * *

Lucien had no idea where she'd gone. A quick search of the house had revealed it utterly empty. He'd had to restrain himself from lighting the more important bits on fire. Because that would ruin the plan. And _oh, _did he have a plan. Sweets from strangers, indeed. That bloody woman would have _no_ idea what hit her.

_Sexual prowess._

Sheer force of will alone kept him from grinding his teeth as he pressed his way through the gates, never once glancing at the statue.

* * *

Hanarai laughed at his back. Silly little Imperials certainly didn't take much to offend these days, did they?

Turning back to her letters, smiling at the sunshine as it draped over the paper, Hanarai mused the question: _Imperial City or Skingrad?_

Or both?

For that was also a viable possibility. If she only stayed in Skingrad for a day, she'd make Synderius' championship match just in time.

"I like that idea," she said, musing out loud as she slipped from the statue. "A holiday would be very nice."

Giving the brave smile of the recently widowed to a guard as she passed, Hanarai resisted the urge to skip down the street.

Her good mood faded as she saw the Imperial guard standing just outside her door, helmet held in his hands, looking rather sheepish.

"Hello, ma'am. Forgive me. I meant to come by sooner, but I was called away."

"I'm so glad you came," she said, looking both brave and worried. "When I woke, there was a man in my house. An Imperial with dark hair. He didn't speak, but the way he _looked_ at me…"

Hanarai trailed off and started to cry.

"Did he hurt you?" the guard asked urgently, pulling forward to take her arm.

Hanarai shook her head and hiccupped.

"No," her voice was rough and so she tried again, barely a whisper. "No, but I think… I think that's the man that killed my husband."

"Did you see him leave?"

"He just went through the gates."

"Ma'am, I am sorry to say this, but I don't feel it's safe, your staying in Chorrol at the moment," he said, voice lowered as he looked around, paranoid now. "Is there truly _nowhere_ else you can stay?"

"Gadayn had a friend in Skingrad," she said, sniffling. "An alchemist. He was always very kind to me. I think he might not mind if I stayed…"

"Good. Good. I would escort you there myself, but Bittneld will have my head as it is. I'll find someone for you though, madam, I promise."

"You're so kind," she whispered through her tears. "But don't worry. There's no faster horse than mine."

He frowned.

"I don't feel comfortable letting you alone so soon after… your ordeal."

"I'll be fine. I just need to gather a few things," she said and moved inside, her hand clenched tightly around his to keep him close. "I feel like assassins are waiting around every corner for me."

"You're safe now, madam." He smiled at her, kindness and affection obvious in his eyes. "Can you tell me what he looked like?"

Hanarai smiled back. He was such a sweet, handsome boy. She'd almost consider befriending him if he weren't so utterly gullible. And so, describing Lucien as well as she could, she made her way upstairs to pack.

* * *

Clilias woke up to the faint smell of garlic and the sound of Vicente's voice.

"You _cannot_ let that idiot child continue!"

"Vicente, I may be mother of this sanctuary, but I cannot _ban_ the use of _garlic_." Ocheeva sounded as though her patience was becoming rather strained. Clilias didn't have to open her eyes to know the look on Vicente's face. She'd seen it long enough last night for it to paint her dreams, the backs of her eyes, every moment of silence…

"Are you _blind_, woman?" Vicente hissed, advancing. "Look what she drove me to. _Look!"_

What sounded like a brief scuffle— Vicente wrenching the Argonian around. Clilias frowned, but kept her eyes closed. Her head throbbed and she was feeling rather light-headed. The memory of that painful, all encompassing white…

"You must learn to control yourself, Vicente."

"Madam." Frost hung thick in that single word and both women knew Ocheeva had crossed the line. "You have no idea the entirety of the dark gift. I am nearly _four hundred _years old. Beast and man separated long ago and there are times when that beast _cannot_ be contained."

Clilias turned and buried her head in the pillow. Vicente's voice was deadly soft now, punctuated with the even click of his boots against the stone floor. Something bad was about to happen and the thought brought an odd feeling to the pit of her stomach. Though whether it was fear or jealousy, she couldn't be sure.

"I am _starving_, Ocheeva," he murmured and those footsteps stopped. He'd backed her into the corner, arms braced at either side of her head. "I am _always_ starving. There is no bloodbath large enough to slake this thirst, no slaughter that will satisfy me. Do not risk what tenuous control I have left. If I break again, every member of this sanctuary will die."

He turned then, striding back into the shadows with a soft chuckle.

"Over _garlic_. For Sithis' sake, Ocheeva…"

"I will see what can be done," she croaked out, her normally rough voice near incoherent now, and promptly fled the room.

"Good," he purred and Clilias felt the bed dip under his weight, a gentle hand stroking over the skin of her back. "Though I am curious as to why _you_ didn't run when you had the chance."

She opened her eyes, staring in shock at the fabric of the pillow.

Vicente knew she was awake.

Strange how that knowledge brought both fear and a rushing sense of anticipation…


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Clilias realized two things while lying there. One, there was no way she could possibly think with Vicente's hand roaming over her skin. And two, she was hardly wearing any clothes. 

Jerking upright with a startled _meep_, she swung the blankets up and around to cover herself. Vicente smiled sadly and stood, moving to the other side of the room.

"I broke one of your ribs," he said in answer to her unspoken question. "I couldn't heal it through your massive amounts of clothing." A small laugh and he shook his head, looking back. "Is it so cold already?"

"No… no, I had to look like a man," she managed in a very small voice.

Vicente frowned, and turned, looking.

"May I ask _why_?"

"I needed to look threatening."

A slow, sprawling smile.

"Motierre?"

She grinned and nodded cheerfully, her hold on the sheets around her neck relaxing. Chuckling to himself, Vicente plucked a bottle from the table and came to sit at her side.

"Here. Drink this. It should clear your head."

Clilias looked at him for a long moment before taking it. There was something in Vicente's eyes that drew her— a soft apology he couldn't voice, shame at the breaking of his control, and… was that _affection_?

"Vicente, can I ask you a question?" she asked, popping the cork on the tiny bottle.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you never let loose your hair?" Clilias smiled and tipped back the bottle.

"_What?"_ Vicente leaned back, looking at her as she swallowed, trying very hard to keep his eyes from her bared throat. Which meant he ended up gazing at her breasts. And so it was about then Vicente gave up looking at her at all, focusing instead on the ladder at the far side of the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Clilias said very softly, re-corking the now empty bottle. "I didn't realize it bothered you."

Vicente snorted, an ironic twist to his lips, looking back now that it was relatively safe.

"_You're_ sorry? You beautiful idiot, what have you to apologize for?"

She blinked at him, confused, _sure_ he'd been angry a moment ago. Was he still? He'd just insulted her… and complimented her.

"Does that mean you'll let your hair loose?" she ventured, brows knitted.

Vicente laughed and pulled the ribbon free.

"Anything for you, my dear."

And that was all it took to send her heart skittering.

Vicente could _hear_ it, a seductive beckoning in the back of his mind, the pit of his stomach. Sithis, this woman was driving him _mad_. He hadn't _craved_ someone like this in years… decades.

"Vicente?" she asked with that sweet little frown.

He could feel his control slipping, and so he stood up, intent on removing himself from temptation. Unfortunately, Clilias followed after him, slipping from the bed, the sheet just _barely_ covering what it was meant to cover.

Vampire bites could be soothed away, but they would always leave a bruise behind. The two pinprick bruises on her neck were beckoning him now, calling him closer, _demanding_ his attention.

Slowly, he crossed the room and pulled her close against him, pressing his lips to those perfect marks. Just a kiss. A soft, desperate kiss.

And Clilias dropped the sheet.

* * *

If there was one thing M'raaj-Dar hated, it was looking like a fool in front of a beautiful woman. So of course, as this day could get no worse, he'd just run into a beautiful woman, and embarrassed himself completely. Which wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world had she not been _perfect_.

Ashni… Even her name was beautiful. And the lady herself? Absolutely _gorgeous _with those intense green eyes; that magnificent mane; that strong, shapely jaw; those curves; that _fur_. A golden goddess if ever he had seen one.

And she'd _laughed at him_.

He could turn it around. He _could_. To have that goddess of a kitten on his arm… It'd take more than a fun night for _that_ woman to stick around. He'd need something stronger, something more powerful than a simple aphrodisiac.

There was an ugly old book in the bottom of his chest he'd kept for the single reason that it'd hinted of a love potion. He'd thought he could turn it into a debilitating poison, but the idea had been abandoned once the _unfortunate accidents_ started. He knew there was a traitor. And the last thing he wanted was to be poisoned with his own brew and leave everyone assuming he'd done it to himself.

Perhaps it was time to dig up that book.

* * *

If Argonians could blush…

Ocheeva tried very hard not to listen to the sounds echoing up from the room below but it was rather difficult considering the racket they were making. There could be no question as to what was actually going on down there. It was _more_ than obvious.

Focusing on her book was no help either. In fact, it only made matters worse. Because as soon as the cries of passion drifted up, they wove themselves around the story in her head and _changed it_. She couldn't read two sentences without the characters falling into each other and it was driving her absolutely mad.

Perhaps she'd go get a drink and be away from this horrible din. If she knew those two, and she suspected she did, they'd be at it all night.

Rising from her comfortable nest of pillows, Ocheeva scrounged around in her chest for a scrap of clothing that didn't look like it'd seen a death or twenty-two.

There had to be something in here. She knew there was at least that—

A particularly loud moan shattered her train of thought and Ocheeva swore.

Bloody assassins.

* * *

M'raaj-Dar purred as the pads of his paws hit the surface of the book he was looking for. A soft, red leathered book, the pages yellowed and smelling of ash salts, the binding nearly crumbling in his hand.

Thumbing through the aging, brittle pages he found the recipe marked in gold. A marvelously _simple_ recipe.

Foxglove nectar, glow dust and the heart of an apple.

Sweet and easily made. He could taint a nice pouch of moon sugar and give it as a gift. Grinning from ear to ear in triumph, M'raaj-Dar bounded off to locate his materials. This was perfect.

Absolutely _perfect.

* * *

_

Lucien had been saving ingredients, testing and researching potions for years. He had crates full of rare ingredients from Morrowind and Solstheim. Specifically the shipment he'd just received from Solstheim— durzog meat and bristleback leather. Mixed together they'd make a beautiful poison with a… rather interesting effect.

Unfortunately, it also had a very distinctive taste. But that was easily remedied. Dryad saddle polypore caps had a habit of absorbing all flavor and changing it to a bland, chalky mass while boiled morning glory roots would then make the whole mess sweet. A bit of orange, a hint of mint…

_Chocolates._

Lucien grinned savagely beneath his hood, head bent against the pouring rain.

_I only take _sweets_ from strangers._

If this worked even half so well as his apples…

_Sexual prowess._

Lucien checked himself in time enough to keep from grinding his teeth. No, this would be _perfect_. There'd be no question of sexual prowess and dissatisfaction. He'd have that woman _begging_.

And then he'd make her scream.

* * *

M'raaj-Dar ground the heart of the apple into a fine paste, slowly adding in the heated foxglove nectar. When it seemed more liquid than paste, he stirred in the glow dust and put it to the heat, keeping the mixture moving as it began to crystallize and condense. An hour later when he had nothing more than crystals rattling around in the bottom of his little cauldron, he'd never felt more like purring.

This was absolutely _brilliant_.

More than brilliant. This was _perfect_.

Ashni would happily accept his moon sugar. Perhaps they'd even have a taste of it together. And as tasting sweets would lead to the tasting of other things…

M'raaj-Dar purred to himself as he mixed the two sets of crystals together. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of a taste now. He had to know it wasn't obvious he'd tainted it, after all. And as he was already head over heels for his golden goddess there really was no harm in inspiring a bit more.

* * *

Ocheeva was feeling decidedly left out. There was nowhere in the sanctuary she could go without hearing that breathless laughter, the sound of breaking furniture and mingled groans of pleasure… _She_ hadn't had a decent partner in years. Not since Scar-Tail had gone his own way.

Damn she missed that boy. He'd had the most beautiful coloring she'd ever seen. Green around the eyes like sweet cut grass, shady trees… Like those beautiful apples they'd found in Ebonheart that one summer— a shipment meant for Vivec… Green like summer, like the apples she'd bought from that traveling vendor for the specific reason they reminded her of him.

Ocheeva plucked one from the bowl, cleaning it against the fabric of her skirt before biting into it. Perhaps she'd go out and watch the sunset to be away from all this noise. She'd have to fetch her book first. There was no way she was going to be driven out just as Eloroth was about to admit his undying love for Am-Rai.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Lucien hummed to himself as he injected his lovely poison into the chocolates he'd bought. Hanarai wouldn't suspect a thing until after the poison had taken effect. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. There were three untainted chocolates in the entire box— meant to prove the box as a whole was safe. Though he _would_ be wearing a very strong resist poison spell, should he happen to choose the wrong chocolate.

Singing the chorus to Captain Cyprith's Calipers now, he began setting the chocolates back into their wrappers, retying the ribbon with long, clever fingers before slipping it back into his pack.

Soon, she'd be at his complete and total mercy.

_Beautiful_.

* * *

M'raaj-Dar stared at Ocheeva as she walked down the hallway, a book in her hand. How was it he had never noticed how soul-achingly _beautiful_ she was? Or how the candlelight glinted so temptingly from those scales? How had he failed in seeing the long, attractive slope of her jaw or the lovely way her tail arched?

"Ocheeva," he purred, slipping up next to her, blood pooling in his belly at the mere _sight_ of her. "I've never seen you without armor. You look… beautiful."

It'd been three years since anyone had called her beautiful. And _that_ had been from Lucien, who had probably been teasing her in that straight-faced way of his. To be honest, she wasn't sure how to react, being so long out of practice with romance.

"What do you want, M'raaj-Dar?" she snapped, fearing that sparkle in his eye was _amusement_, knowing the filthy cat had a wicked sense of humor.

"The pleasure of your company?" He frowned and stopped, watching as she walked a few paces ahead. He had not counted on rejection. After all, he'd not seen this lovely lady with any man outside the sanctuary in… four years.

She looked at him, keeping her face carefully blank as internally her libido threatened to mutiny.

_Why not? _it hissed. _Why the bloody hell not?_

Well, it could lead to some rather awkward situations for one. But unfortunately, situations rhymed too closely with _positions_, and her mind was only too happy to supply a good number of those.

Ocheeva smiled slowly, showing twin rows of needle-sharp teeth.

"Why not?"

And amongst her raging hormones there was much rejoicing.

* * *

"You came sooner than I expected," Sinderion laughed, releasing her from the hug. "How are you?"

Hanarai smiled as she looked up. Always had liked men taller than her…

"Very well, actually. Your potion?"

"_Your_ potion, my dear." He grinned and took her bags, setting them down at the foot of the stairs before leading her over to his workstation where he picked up a plain, rather boring blue bottle. "The Elixir of Exploration. Though of course, I haven't worked out all the kinks yet."

Hanarai sat down on the edge of the bed with a twist of a smile.

"_Kinks_?"

With a hint of mischief in his eyes, Sinderion uncorked the bottle, dabbing a bit on his finger before pressing it to the very corner of Hanarai's mouth. It left a pleasant, burning sensation in its wake and she grinned a wicked little smile.

"What did you use to remove the impurities?" she asked, a certain light in her eyes.

Sinderion re-corked the bottle to keep his hands busy. It was a rare to find anyone who matched his talent for the alchemical. Hanarai was not quite so experienced, but to have a beautiful, _intelligent_ woman sitting on his bed inquiring after ingredients, was more than enough to have him weak in the knees.

"Void salts, as usual," he managed. "They tend to work best, I find."

"On most potions, yes, but I doubt they're quite suited to nirnroot. It is a… highly _unusual_ ingredient."

The look in her eyes, oh _gods_, the look in her eyes... How could she possibly expect him to form a coherent thought when she was looking to him as though he held all the answers in the world?

"To be honest, I think this potion is functioning with impurities intact," she said, rising from her seat on the bed to take the bottle from him. "Void salts are very good at drawing out poisons that attack magicka, but they're essentially useless negating poisons that damage the health."

"What would you suggest?" he asked, trying very hard to keep his thoughts on subject and _not_ on the way Hanarai's hair draped over her shoulders. "A distillation of ingredients to negate each side effect? It could render the potion itself useless."

Hanarai frowned, sniffing the contents of the bottle. Spicy. The sort of heat that burned the back of one's throat upon breathing it in. _Very_ delicately, she took a taste. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. A little like drinking firepetal tea.

"Aloe Vera may help," she suggested, voice cracking from the heat. "Especially with the nausea and fatigue."

"That should even out in a moment, actually," Sinderion said, turning to rifle through his crates. "But I have something here that will help should it fail…"

"No… No, it's passing." Hanarai blinked as her vision washed from shadow-gray to vibrant blue. "Night-eye? I certainly wasn't expecting that."

And thus his beautiful lady was caught off guard. Sinderion smiled and pulled a bottle of wine from the rack instead.

"There's a carrot in there, along with ground daedroth teeth."

"Daedroth?" Hanarai looked up, eyes flashing at the thought of learning something new. "What do those do?"

"You've not worked with them?" Sinderion asked, as he poured them each a glass of wine. "You? A Telvanni?"

"My father guards his Tel with dremora lords. I attempted a potion with daedroth teeth once, but my patience wore too thin to grind them."

Sinderion chuckled, handing her the glass.

"And so it becomes apparent exactly _why_ you forgo alchemy as a career." He laughed, leaning back against the wall. "I find they create a lovely barrier against frost. Quite useful for long nights. The night eye and light aspects come in handy for the same reason. Though daedroth teeth have a nasty tendency to make everything heavier."

"That sounds rather useful. As long as I can find someone strong enough to grind them for me," she said with a small smile, wicked in its total innocence, before bringing the glass up to her mouth.

A moment later she had spit the wine across the floor, laughing and choking at the absolutely wretched taste.

"What _is_ this?" she asked between coughing jags, setting the glass on the alchemy bench. "That has to be the most wretched thing I have ever tasted."

"Really?" Sinderion cocked a brow and sniffed his own glass. "It's Shadowbanish wine. Very rare and, I was under the impression, sought after."

He brought the glass to his lips with the same reaction.

"By the Nine!" he coughed, tossing it away. "That's _horrible_."

Hanarai laughed so hard at the look on his face she nearly doubled over before staggering to the wine rack.

"We need something sweet—"

"After _that_?" Sinderion asked, still coughing. "Gods no. Something _strong_."

"Compromise," Hanarai laughed as she pulled a bottle from the rack to threaten him with. "We'll drink this. Whatever _this_ is."

The label was missing. Hanarai frowned, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth with the rancid taste of dust and putrefying fruit.

"Oh, that." Sinderion took it from her, red to the tips of his ears. "That's not wine."

Mischief flared in Hanarai's eyes then.

"What is it then?"

"I'd rather not…"

"Sinderion," she purred, coming close to stroke the tip of a finger just below his bicep, trying to ignore the taste lingering in her mouth. "What's in that bottle?"

"An experiment," he said awkwardly, feeling more and more out of his element. "It's nothing, really."

Hanarai waited until he set it down before stealing it back, uncorking it with a sharp _pop_. The smell that wafted out was sweet in a way that seemed to beckon, lighting a fire in the pit of her stomach.

"Sweetheart!" He rushed forward to take it from her, _flaming_ red now. "I really wish you wouldn't…" But Sinderion trailed off at the look in her eyes.

Mischief, longing, seduction, _need_…

"Have you named it?" she asked, with that too-sharp grin.

He licked his lips, trying hard to _think with your head, Sinderion. Think with your head! _

"I call it Inspiration."

_Wrong head, you idiot! Wrong bloody head!_

Hanarai reached for another glass then, her eyes never leaving his even as she drank. For his part, Sinderion was finding it damnably hard to focus his thoughts back into any sort of order. For there was an incredibly attractive, intelligent elf in front of him— one he fully considered to be his intellectual equal— drinking _his_ aphrodisiac from _his_ glass with that calculating look that meant she was analyzing his ingredients in the same instant she analyzed _him_.

"Hanarai?" he asked, working hard to keep his voice in check.

She licked her lips and smiled, refilling the glass before offering it up to him.

"Here," there was a dark, beckoning look in her eyes. "It'll take the taste out."

"Are you…?"

"Positive." And then her face fell, though that calculating look remained. "Don't you want any?"

"Hanarai, I—"

"Just have a taste," she purred and leaned up on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his.

And really, who was he to say no to such a magnificent offer? Especially as Hanarai's shirt had fallen away to reveal a _very _tantalizing expanse of skin. Never mind that she had worked his own from his shoulders, her fingers searching, playing along sensitive spots until his last scrap of control snapped and they landed together in a tangle of limbs upon the bed, the bottle of _Inspiration_ close at hand.

Given such magnificent circumstance, who could have refused?


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: On the subject of Khajiit prefixes, M'something is used to imply childishness or virginity where as S'something means "adult".

* * *

Lucien rushed through the contracts that had piled up in his absence, assigning them to whichever name came first to mind before shoving them aside. He didn't have the time for this sort of thing right now. He had a brilliant revenge plan to execute. But Sithis knew if he let this go for even two days more, his desk would collapse under the weight of all that paper by the time he returned.

But he finished in good time, rising from his seat an hour before noon to tuck the contracts and box of chocolates into his bag. For good measure he packed a bottle of wine as well, but left it untainted. He knew full well as long as there was wine it would distract her attention. She'd be sniffing for harrada and elf cup caps— if she'd noticed the apples at all— but he sincerely doubted she'd pay any mind to the chocolates.

Grinning at his own cleverness, Lucien locked the grate and sprang up the ladder. A quick stop at the sanctuary and he'd be on his way to Chorrol and there before night.

The sanctuary was in _chaos_.

Well, to be fair, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It hadn't… collapsed… or been set on fire. But with the smell of garlic lying as thick in the air, it was probably flammable. Lucien winced as he made his way into the common area, wondering what in the hell had happened since he'd been here.

And why exactly he could hear Vicente _laughing_ like that? The man had a particularly fierce allergy to garlic, after all. The scent of it alone gave him powerful headaches. He shouldn't be _laughing_.

And then he heard the lady's voice under that laugher, alternately cursing and praising whatever it was the vampire was doing.

Lucien _did not _want to know what the vampire was doing. In fact, he didn't even want to stop moving lest he contemplate it for a split second and have the image stuck in his head. The last thing he needed to see was Vicente's aging, bloodless—

Shaking the thought off with a disgusted twitch, Lucien made his way down into the kitchen to see why exactly the sanctuary smelt so strongly of garlic.

To be honest, he wasn't sure what he'd expected. But finding Antoinetta in her dark armor, wearing an apron and a clothespin on her nose certainly hadn't been it.

"Loocien!" she cried happily, voice altered from the pin. "Whad a lovely surprise!"

"_What_, may I ask, are you _doing_?" he asked with a scowl, arms crossed however desperately he wished to hold his nose shut.

"Vicente won't shud up!" she said, pouting. "They've been ad id for a full _day_ now. Id's getting ridiculous."

"And you believe _this_ will make him stop? You idiot child, do you not realize that allergy of his makes him _dangerous?_"

Her eyes welled, though whether it was from what he'd said or the sudden waft of garlic was impossible to tell. Lucien only glowered, lips pursed into a thin, colorless line.

"Get rid of this. All of it. And if the smell isn't out of her by the time I get back…"

"Yes, Speaker. Of course."

She spun away from him to frost out the fire and Lucien turned to storm down the hall. Where the hell was Ocheeva? He left her in charge to _keep _this sort of thing from bloody well _happening_.

"Ocheeva!" he thundered, striding over to push open her door and immediately regretting it.

She and M'raaj-Dar were curled inextricably around each other, tails in places tails were never meant to go, doing things he could have happily lived the rest of his life without seeing.

"Speaker!"

The apples. It had to be the apples. They'd driven the entire sanctuary _insane_. Vicente was tormenting poor, comparatively innocent new recruits. Ocheeva and M'raaj-Dar… well, S'raaj-Dar now considering what they were doing… had done…

"Oh, _Sithis_," he hissed and closed the doors before that mental image could further imprint itself. There had to be one person left in this godforsaken sanctuary that hadn't eaten an apple.

Well, there was Grogon.

He turned to go back into the common room, only to find he and Teinaava emerging sheepish and disheveled from the living quarters.

"Told you," Grogon muttered in what no doubt passed for an Orcish whisper.

"Honored Speaker," Teinaava began but Lucien's control was waning.

"Where are the new recruits? Darvala? Cirgus? Arielle?"

He swore he could see Teinaava blush behind his scales.

"Otherwise occupied, Speaker."

"Otherwise occupied _how_?" he asked with a glare cold enough to freeze.

A loud moan cut the Argonian off before he could begin to answer and Lucien put a hand to his face.

"Never mind. I don't care," he growled and turned. Process of elimination dictated _Clilias_ was the unlucky recruit Vicente had set his sights on. But seeing as how the man was only laughing, it was possible he was still sane enough to be prized away and into controlling this mess.

"Vicente!" Lucien bellowed, striding down the hallway, ignoring Ocheeva as she emerged rather awkwardly from her room. "_Vicente!_"

"Kindly bugger off!" Came the muffled reply.

Lucien glowered at the door. He was a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, for Sithis' sake, he bloody well _would not_.

"Open the door, Vicente!"

"He can't!" A female voice this time, sounding both distressed and oddly aroused.

Lucien leaned his head against the wood of the door with a sigh.

"And why not?"

"I'm tied up at the moment," Vicente called, obviously amused.

Lucien clenched his teeth.

"Look, you fetcher, I don't care what the hell you're doing—"

"No, he's _tied up," _Clilias cut him off. "He can't open the door."

There was nothing worse than an assassin with _kinks_.

"Eliminator—" Lucien started

"I can't either…" And here there sprawled an awkward pause. "I'm half paralyzed."

Vicente was giggling, Lucien realized, and he did _not_ want to know why. Neither did he want to know where or why his Eliminator was half paralyzed. Trying hard not to grit his teeth, Lucien made his way back upstairs.

He did not want to deal with this. He _really _didn't want to deal with this.

Unfortunately, it was his _job_.

* * *

Hanarai frowned at the wall as she dressed, lost in her thoughts. Her little interlude with Sinderion had been very nice, but his aphrodisiac had triggered the same crazed, out of control feeling as her night with that Imperial. Which meant that apple had been tainted. She should have known. Should have suspected, at the very least, that he'd done something.

Fetching Imperial. None of this would have happened had she only gotten the Dunmer Speaker… But perhaps it was just as well. The night hadn't been entirely unpleasant, after all. And she'd been rather pleased with the note she left the morning after.

Hanarai smiled, remembering how hard it'd been to slip it under his hand without laughing, _knowing_ how furious he'd be once he read it. Giggling to herself at the memory of mischief, Hanarai stroked a hand through Sinderion's hair, placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and skipped off to pick her bags up from the foot of the stairs. If she didn't hurry, she wouldn't make it in time for Synderius' gladiator match.

* * *

Lucien finally emerged from the sanctuary two hours past noon. It'd taken a full hour alone to pry Clilias from the wall. Whatever it was Vicente had used was _very_ strong, and with her entire left side _accidentally_ paralyzed, she'd been unable to get herself down. Vicente, of course, was no help at all. It was obvious he wasn't keeping proper control of himself, and at the moment he hadn't been… fit for company. Or, for that matter, entirely sane.

Gritting his teeth, Lucien sprang into Shadowmere's saddle and spurred her on for the Imperial City. There was no way he was going to make Chorrol before nightfall now. Which irritated the hell out of him, but there was nothing to be done for it. He'd stop in the Imperial City, kill the worthless skooma fiend everyone else was suddenly too incompetent to manage, and be on his way.

Bloody hell, he missed being a Silencer. Wandering around Cyrodiil until his Speaker finally tracked him down and sent him off to kill something. On that note, he missed _having_ a Silencer to track down and send off to kill something. His last one had died "on contract", though Lucien suspected she'd simply been the first _unfortunate accident._

Well, Arquen was proving useful for once in her godforsaken life. There'd been no more of the _accidents_ since she'd carried Bellamont off to Anvil. He'd have to speak with Vicente about it later, but until the man managed to reign himself in, there was no looking him in the eyes let alone holding a civil conversation with him.

Bloody vampire…

Not that it mattered. He had far more important things he could be doing; clients he'd been putting off, dark elves to seduce… But it wasn't as though this escapade would last much longer. Hanarai was only a passing entertainment, after all. Soon, it'd all be over.

But until then, he really _was_ overdue for a holiday.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Synderius came out of the gate _glowing_. He positively radiated confidence and the promise of sexual prowess as he fought. Ten minutes in, it was obvious he was only toying with the Imperial before him, dancing easily away from each blow.

Hanarai cheered with the rest, and Synderius caught her eye as he turned, stopping to give a dramatic, sweeping bow. In that moment, the Imperial seized his chance and charged him from behind. But the Dunmer swung around with a powerful arc of the blade and severed his head in a single, beautiful blow.

For a moment, Hanarai almost felt bad for the little Imperial— put up against a mer with more than three times the experience. But then Synderius had retrieved the man's long sword, and with a deep, backwards sweep, tossed it up to the balcony where she stood.

Catching it with a bolt of telekinesis, Hanarai brought it to her hand so fast it seemed as though she'd plucked it from the air. Around her, the crowd went wild and she could hear the announcer laugh.

"What a stunning victory! Our new Gladiator already bending the rules. But with a catch like that, who's complaining? Always a show with this one, folks. Gladiator—"

There really was no point in watching Synderius' ego swell to massive proportions as he soaked up the crowd's praise. Hanarai strode from the arena, using the long sword as a dangerous cane and made her way down into the Bloodworks. No one was about to stop her, striding through as though she belonged with a huge sword, looking particularly fierce.

Synderius scooped her up the moment he saw her to spin her around in a wide circle, heedless of the sword in her hands. Laughing, Hanarai hooked an arm around his neck, let the weapon fall and kissed him. Catcalls lit the air just before an angry Redguard stormed out into the training area.

"What have I told you about stealing weaponry, maggot?" he bellowed, the yellow team captain close on his heels. But Synderius only laughed.

"Owyn, I didn't _keep_ it."

"No, you gave it to some t—" he very wisely caught himself before the word _trollop,_ seeing said trollop was both in Synderius' arms and bearing the expression he'd once seen on a very powerful mage just before she'd nearly killed him.

"Yes?" Hanarai purred, Telvanni polite— the sort of polite that spoke of just which horrible way one was going to die, while still conversing of simple, happy things.

"Now, children. None of that," Synderius laughed and set Hanarai down to sweep the sword up from the ground. "There's your sword. No harm done. Just a bit of show. Now give me my gold and I'll be out of your hair the rest of the night."

"What's left of it, anyway," he muttered.

"He looted the corpse of a fallen combatant!" The yellow team captain shouted. "And you're going to _pay_ him?"

"Look," Owyn snapped, turning to face the man dead on. "The sword found its way back. That's the only thing I care about. Now if you don't want to end up like the man _missing_ his sword, I suggest you shut up."

He sighed, turning back to Synderius to hand him the small, leather pouch.

"You'll all be the death of me."

But Synderius only grinned cheerfully, ferreting the gold away in some secret compartment about his person so quickly Hanarai hadn't the time to see where it'd gone.

"Where's Agronak?" he asked, glancing around with that look in his eyes that spoke of pretty barmaids and big tankards.

"Attempting to convince Broad the money he'll make on booze is worth the damages you'll cause," a Bosmer called from where he was beating the stuffing from a man-shaped bag.

"_Me?"_ Synderius laughed. "_I_ sit quietly in the corner. It's the hoards of women that destroy things."

Hanarai laughed.

"And you certainly don't _encourage_ them at all."

"Of course not," he grinned, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Oh, Faelian? Yes, I know the poor dear. His ladylove takes care of him now. He used to be so pretty, you know. But he… has an unfortunate addiction."

Lucien leaned against the bar and gave the woman his most sincere smile.

"Do you know where I could find him?"

Just at the moment he was wearing a rather complex illusion spell and looked like a tall, very attractive, blond Altmer.

"Why are you looking for _him_?" she asked, leaning over the counter in such a way to better display her assets.

"I'm a friend of his mother's." In a matter of speaking, anyway. Cyrodiil was falling apart lately. Sons killing mothers. Mothers killing sons.

"She's worried about him," he continued. "Hasn't seen him in more than a year, so she sent me to collect him."

"That's so sweet!" she smiled, batting her eyes at him. "Are you related?"

"Distantly."

"You have the same eyes. Such a pretty color brown. Oh, but he's not here now. He went out for his walk. Leaves for days sometimes. Probably to find more skooma."

"Oh, dear." Lucien sighed and pushed up from the bar. "Any idea where I could find him?"

"Probably in the Elven Gardens District. But if he's gone and holed himself up, you'll never find him."

Lucien smiled sadly, hiding his frustration well.

"I'll manage," he said and turned for the door.

"Good luck!" she called after him.

But Lucien barely noticed as he'd already dropped his illusion and stepped out into the crowd. And it really wasa _crowd_. Apparently there'd been an arena match today as a swarm of women were walking down the street, all crowded around a single Dunmer.

_Two_ Dunmers, he realized as the crowd parted enough for him to see Hanarai, arm curled around the fighter's waist.

Abruptly, Lucien disappeared. Though he was grinning like an idiot. Perhaps Vicente hadn't ruined his brilliant plan by sticking that poor recruit to the wall. In fact, he'd probably saved it. All he had to do now was find this Faelian fellow, shove a few bottles of skooma down his throat until he stopped moving, and be on his way.

To find Hanarai.

Excited at the prospect of getting the woman back for her nasty little note, Lucien slipped off through the crowd for the Elven Gardens District.

* * *

Hanarai frowned, positive she'd seen her assassin through the hoard of swarming women. But the crowd had closed too quickly on him and by the time it'd sorted itself out, he was gone.

Of course, it was very possible he'd simply disappeared. But she couldn't cast detect life to look for him as she'd be blinded by the press and surge of women around her.

Not that it mattered, really. She was simply curious as to why he was here. If he was going to insist on following her everywhere, she may as well hire him for a bodyguard.

And actually, that wasn't a bad idea. She'd had worse. Like marring Gadayn. That _had_ paid off in the end, but she could have done just as well with a nice Imperial boy. They were always born and dead so quickly anyway, whatever money he made would have been hers within a half century— barely time enough to mention.

"Something wrong?" Synderius asked, leaning down to nip at the tip of her ear on the last word. "You look distracted."

Hanarai stifled a shiver at the sensation and smiled up at him.

"Thought I saw someone I knew."

"Did you?"

"Oh, no." She laughed. "Simply another Imperial. They're a dime a dozen here, aren't they?"

"I like Imperials," he said in that cheerfully distracted way of his. "I find they tend to have rather large—"

"Synderius?" A small, vaguely Bosmer boy ran up to them then, with blond hair that masterfully defied gravity. "Synderius Andrethi? I saw your match today against that new Imperial! You were amazing!"

Hanarai winced at the sound of his voice, wishing very hard her Imperial would show up before she exploded the poor child without really meaning to. But a glance up at her escort showed he was in much the same state, half deaf as he was. Though it could have simply been the mention of _Andrethi_. For some reason she had yet to fathom, Synderius wanted desperately to separate himself from his family.

"Where are you going? Can I come?" the boy continued, hardly pausing to breathe. "I'll be very useful. I'll carry your bags if you've got some! Or I'll find you a nice—"

"I'm sorry," Synderius said, with a perfect grin and a vague gesture towards his left ear. "I can't hear a thing you're saying."

Oddly enough, the boy's face lit.

"Your fight with the Bosmer! I remember! I was there! They said it nearly killed you. But you survived! And that's why your nose is crooked and why you can't hear out of your left ear, and why—"

"Honey, I've got something you could do for me," Hanarai said, pulling away from Synderius a moment with her very sweetest smile. "Would you like to do me a very big favor?"

"Oh, yeah! Of course, I mean… I would love yo— _to_. To! I would love to!" he blurted, tripping over his own tongue and turning red to the very tips of his ears.

"Wonderful! Take this money and go find me the nicest bottle of wine you can. Come right back and find me when you've got it, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am! I'm right on it. Already leaving!"

And he sprinted off with a huge puppy-dog grin, completely forgetting to ask where it was he'd find her. Synderius laughed as he ran off, claiming her arm again.

"You'll never see that wine, you know."

"Oh, I know. I'd have paid more if I thought he'd leave sooner." She grinned and spun around to whisper in his left ear, "filthy s'wit!"

Synderius laughed and caught her wrist before she could dance off, pulling her close.

"I _can_ still hear a good bit out of that ear, you know," he said, grinning. "I simply find it very convenient _not to_ in certain conversations."

"Like when you're trying to get into a lady's dress?"

"Of course not, darling." Synderius smiled, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with your chest."


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Lucien smiled at the drug-addled mer, a bottle of skooma dangling from between his fingers.

"I've brought you a present, Falian," he crooned, shutting the door.

"Is that _skooma?"_ he asked, a ravenous look in his eyes. "You're a really good friend, Mr. Imperial. A _really_ good friend."

_Mr. Imperial._ Thank the gods no one was around to hear _that_ utter embarrassment.

He didn't have to worry about it though as Falian had taken the bottle from his hands, guzzling it down as quickly as he could. Lucien had tainted it before entering the building, using his apples' usual poison— an instantly deadly, perfectly clear, tasteless concoction.

The mer was dead within moments of finishing the bottle.

Lucien smiled as he watched him fall like a lightning struck tree to the ground. And cloaking himself in shadows, he slipped from the house to find Hanarai.

Judging by the crowds and drifting laughter, Luthor Broad's would probably be a good place to start.

Sitting in the far corner, Lucien nursed his pint of ale, watching the patrons arrive. Hanarai wasn't here, but he knew she would be soon. The Gray Prince was sitting nearby, after all. And one would always find Hanarai where one found powerful men.

Powerful men… Lucien pressed a hand to the bag at his side, considering his plan. Chocolates, wine to distract her. Perhaps as an _apology_ he was too _embarrassed_ to voice. He swallowed a sneer at the thought, concentrating instead on Hanarai falling prey to his plans. She'd be concentrating on her spell, on moving wine from glass to glass, but never on the chocolates in her lap. And once she ate one, just one…

Smirking into his ale, Lucien kept his eyes on the door. He could hear a crowd approaching, the sound of it drifting through the open window. It didn't take long before the door opened and the two Dunmer staggered in laughing, each leaning hard on the other. Hanarai was holding a bottle of wine in one hand, laughing so hard tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes.

She was past speech, apparently, as she collapsed into the nearest chair upon entering, still giggling to herself. Nearby, the Gray Prince rose from his seat and went over to meet them.

"What has gotten into you two?" he asked, bemused.

Synderius only shook his head, wiping a hand over his eyes.

"You had to be there. But, oh gods, Agronak, it was _perfect_."

"And an _Altmer_, too," Hanarai choked out. "My gods, that was brilliant."

The half-orc raised an eyebrow, giving Synderius a questioning look. But the mer only grinned and stood.

"I think the poor bugger lost a bet. How generous is Broad feeling tonight?"

Lucien watched as Synderius pressed a hand to Hanarai's shoulder and moved off with his oddly colored orc friend before making his move.

Coming up behind her, he stroked a finger over the sensitive curve of her neck, slipping the box onto her lap.

"Truce?"

Hanarai tilted her head back and smiled.

"I thought I saw you earlier. Business?"

Lucien grinned.

"It's been taken care of. Join me?"

She smiled, seeing the blatant mischief in his eyes and the endearing way he'd forgotten to shave. He was rather attractive, this Imperial— in his persistence if nothing else. It was a breath of fresh air considering her conquests lately. Only Modryn dared to play at all, and _he_ was nearly incapable of magic. But Lucien was strong, clever and utterly wicked. If he weren't so bloody human, he'd be _perfect_.

"Certainly," she purred, and taking his gloved hand, rose from her seat.

Synderius had sixteen other swarming women to tide him over, after all. Hanarai had more important things to manage. Namely, her Imperial.

* * *

Hanarai wasn't sure what to make of Lucien with his gifts. She highly suspected one was meant to distract attention from the other, but divining this man's logic was rather difficult. He'd brought chocolates _and_ wine. Normally she'd assume both were poisoned, while he wore some sort of trinket to negate their effects as he attempted to convince her both were safe.

But then, he may have used a poison he was immune to. During their night together, he'd been eating those apples of his before and after she woke— including the one she'd tasted. There had been no enchantment on him— no trinkets, no spells. Which meant he'd been as affected as she had.

Hanarai frowned as she passed into the room, dropping her bag beside the door, still thinking as she sat down in a chair before the room's small table.

"Have I offended you?" Lucien asked, as he locked the door silently behind him. "Or don't you trust me?"

A slow burning anticipation began to glow in the pit of her stomach and Hanarai grinned.

"You don't strike me as the sort of man given to apologies or truces, Lucien."

"Oh?" he purred, coming to stand behind her, fingers drifting over her shoulders. "What sort of man _do_ I strike you as?"

"Ruthless." She smirked because she knew he could not see it. "Proud. Headstrong to the point of idiocy."

But Lucien only laughed, twining a strand of her hair around his fingers.

"You could be right." And then, flicking the lid from its box. "Chocolate?"

Laughing, she let her head fall back against his shoulder, noting how he'd crouched beside her. Almost as if he were waiting to run…

"You know better."

"I'll have one then, I think." Lucien smirked. He knew this woman would be trouble. But then, she wouldn't be half so interesting if she didn't play this game of theirs so well. "Do you mind?"

"No, help yourself. Though I believe I _will_ have some wine."

She rose from her seat and made her way to her bag. As soon as her hand touched the bottle, she forced the strongest charm spell she knew through the glass, knowing most if it would be lost before it ever hit the liquid. But it was the only surefire way she could taint the wine without Lucien noticing.

Rising as though nothing had happened, she made her way back to the table, popping the cork in Lucien's direction. He caught it with a smirk and tossed it back, before leaning forward to pick through the chocolates.

Hanarai watched him slip a smaller of the candies into his mouth as she poured. He leaned back, draping himself over the chair, eyes closed as he chewed. In this light, she could almost see the play of muscles under his shirt, the freckle she had claimed as her own just under his collarbone, the small trail of hair that sprawled under the ties of his breeches…

She closed her eyes for a moment until her wavering control steadied itself, laughing internally at the one little Imperial that could shake her where a hoard of elves could not.

"Wine?" she smiled, showing no outward signs of her cravings as she offered him a glass.

But Lucien only smiled at her, a wicked sharp twist of the lips that made her want to _tie him down and ravish him. _Hanarai swallowed hard, knowing she couldn't give him so much as a fraction of control or else his ego would be grow unbearable. Even in Chorrol, with him in Cheydinhal, she'd _feel_ it smirking. And there was nothing worse than a smirk one couldn't reach to slap.

"If you won't eat, my dear, I'm not about to drink," he chuckled, regarding her from half lidded eyes. "Between the two of us, we may be able to make a proper night of it."

He'd eaten a chocolate, and nothing was wrong with him. Perhaps there was a pattern to it. Or perhaps there was only a single poisoned chocolate in the box. That certainly would appeal to his sense of humor, wouldn't it?

"What a pair we make," she laughed, sinking back into her chair. "Like paranoid old men. Hmm… Now let's see. Which poison would I prefer?"

She leaned over to sort through the chocolates in her box. She recognized them as Serethi's— a woman who always put each chocolate to its own row. So this one, with its hodgepodge of sprawling colors, had certainly been tampered with.

Absently, she sipped from the wine in her hand as she looked— having a natural immunity to charm spells. Lucien watched this with a smirk, eyes following her every movement as she tried to decide which one was safe.

There were four— one for every tainted apple they'd eaten together— three now that he'd stolen the first.

He leaned forward to steal the wine from her hand, needing _something_ to settle himself enough to see this game to completion.

"Is choosing always such an ordeal with you?" he asked, downing the wine in one go.

Hanarai smirked at her success and picked a dark chocolate from the box.

"Simply waiting for you, dear," she purred, and popped the little truffle into her mouth.

This little assassin of hers was really quite amusing. He'd never win, of course. When it came between a Telvanni and… _anyone_ really, the Telvanni would always win. Even if, by some disaster, houses could not come into play, there was no way a child of an Imperial would ever, _ever_ manage to best a Dunmer.

Least ways not a Dunmer with any sort of self-respect.

It was a fact of life. As much as the grass was green, the sky blue, Lucien's eyes that lovely sort of chocolate brown…

She couldn't see Lucien's eyes.

She couldn't see window next to her, or the wood beneath her hand. Everything had faded into deep, velvet _black_.

Lucien watched with immense satisfaction as the smug confidence fled her face.

"You s'wit," she muttered, staring somewhere just left of his ear.

"Now, now," he purred, rising silently from the table. "I simply wanted to make the occasion that much more memorable."

And here he stopped, leaning down to let his breath curl over the very tip of her ear.

"Wonderful conversationalists and all that, darling."


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: For Talos is the god of STUFF. Thus, I figure, he is the one that manages broken furniture.

* * *

Hanarai stood, attempting to cast a spell that would stop this bloody poison in its tracks. But Lucien leapt around the table and caught her hand, stilling her incantation with a quick, smirk-curled kiss. He was gone a second later, springing off into empty space before she could even strangle him.

"Frightened of me even blind, Lucien?" she purred, turning at the sound of his footsteps.

But he only laughed and cast a spell to silence them.

"Aren't you a sight?" he said, still chuckling. "Totally helpless and in _my_ borrowed room."

"A Telvanni is never _helpless_." She smiled and shot a damaging shock spell at the sound of his voice. But the blow felt empty and Hanarai frowned, knowing she'd missed.

"Out of your element, Hanarai?" Lucien purred and swept her hair aside to press a kiss to the back of her neck.

She spun, a dangerous paralysis dancing on her fingertips, but he was gone.

"Darling, you forget," he laughed. "Assassin's reflexes."

Hanarai grinned, wickedly.

"Well then, _dearest_. I'll simply have to try harder."

A quick succession of fire spells flew at him and Lucien was hard pressed to dodge. Even blind, the woman was a fearsome opponent. But at least he had the advantage. Loosing his whirlwind, he ducked and watched it whip through the room, overturning the table, chairs and a few bottles of wine.

Hanarai spun, confused at the cacophony of noise. She could feel the wind pulling at her dress, but it was not a spell she recognized.

And so she simply stood there, patiently waiting for some sign of Lucien's location.

"Aren't you going to _play?"_ he purred, suddenly behind her, his arms curling around her waist.

Hanarai smiled. She _loved_ this game. Even blind and at the disadvantage, she loved this game. And it'd been _so_ long since anyone had the stones to play with her. Certainly not without intent to kill, anyway. Giggling at the wave of longing that swept through her, Hanarai leaned backwards into him. She could feel Lucien smile, the muscles in his arms relaxing. He thought he'd won.

And so, with the very sweetest smile she could muster, she spat fire in his face.

It was a rather convenient trick she'd learned ages ago from a traveling Khajiit acrobat— an Ohmes with the loveliest brown eyes. He hadn't been lying when he told her it'd come in handy. Because as soon as the fire hit its mark, Lucien swore and staggered off, the whirlwind dissolving away.

Smirking to herself, Hanarai picked her careful way around the bed and sat down on the rumpled covers.

"You breathe fire," Lucien growled, laughter in his voice. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Darling, you forget," she smiled. "Telvanni ingenuity."

But a long moment passed and Lucien didn't reply. Which was just fine. She could dance to this tune. Hanarai leaned back and stretched, curling her telekinesis out and around to subtly undo a few crucial buttons on her blouse, knowing full well what it'd do for Lucien's control.

"Have you finished with this foolishness, dear?" she asked, straining to hear so much as a whisper of cloth over skin.

The assassin in question took a deep, silent breath through his nose, trying to keep still. It was not the easiest of endeavors, seeing Hanarai sprawled over the bed like an offering to the gods, her blouse slipping down just far enough to tease. He wanted so badly to claim her there and now and be done with this _foolishness_. But that wouldn't be nearly so satisfying in the long run.

And so he forced his control into some semblance of order and sent a soft, searching telekinesis to whisper over her cheek. It was probably the most useless spell Vicente had ever forced him to learn. And yet suddenly he could see the benefit in an invisible feather touch.

Because Hanarai turned, looking intent and aroused and there was _nothing_ more decadent than that woman in her passion.

Hanarai, for her part, was feeling rather clever as Lucien had inadvertently given his position away with his pitifully weak telekinesis. Smirking, she followed his mind back, realizing along the way he'd done nothing to protect himself. There was nothing waiting for her— no shields or threatening power. Absolutely nothing at all to stop her from doing as she pleased.

And so Hanarai coiled her mind tightly around his and _pulsed._

It was simple really. Merely an expulsion of power that caused a deep-seated vibration. But the sensation, if done correctly, was debilitating in its perfection. Apparently Lucien thought so too, as she heard him stagger back and into the wall with a harsh groan, his breathing suddenly ragged.

"Sweetheart." She smirked, never pausing in her efforts. "You should know better than to lock horns with a Telvanni."

Lucien had never felt _anything_ like it. It was beyond compare or description. His entire body was aflame with pleasure and he _could not move._ The Telvanni had literally paralyzed him with a thought. Which would have been almost funny had he any of his own to spare.

Slowly, Hanarai rose from the bed and made her careful way to Lucien's side. Her sight was returning, the room painted now in blurry shades of black. And as she walked towards him, Lucien--crouched nearly double--almost swore she'd never been affected in the first place.

He could hear her laughing, _feel_ her mind pulsing harder with the sound, and it nearly killed him. For the first time in his life he _wanted_ _to_ _beg_. For more, for it to stop... Nothing made sense. The world was spinning out of control around him, until the only thing left was that pulsing, crippling pleasure and the sound of Hanarai's voice.

"Poor baby," she murmured, lifting his chin. "You can't fight me off at all, can you?"

She kissed him, a sweet brush of her lips against his own and the world screamed to a shattering halt.

_Telvanni._

Lucien realized he was shaking as he wrenched her closer, returning her kiss with all the fury and passion he held.

_Dangerous._

She had taken his game and turned it on its ear. The game he was supposed to win without question and she had outmaneuvered him.

For the moment.

Lucien smirked and pulled away, seeing the desire in her eyes matched his own.

The night wasn't over yet.

There was a spell he'd learned ages ago, when he was still fooling around with mages. Very handy little thing when dealing with angry, spell-casting lovers. It came back to him now, its familiar weight settling into his mind and the tips of his fingers.

_This_ spell he knew back to front— its heft and give, the feel of it between his hands, the symbols that accompanied its casting. He knew it as well as he knew his name and so there was no need for motions or muttered incantations— only a twitch of the finger as he stroked his hands down Hanarai's generous curves.

_Lust_.

That's all. The simplest of emotions distilled into a few ancient symbols.

Pure, base _lust_— strong enough to destroy all sense of control and decorum, paving the way for the much more useful _want_ and _need_.

Hanarai blinked at him as the spell took hold, her eyes darkening. Her plans for a slow, torturous seduction wavered and collapsed. And in its place a succession of increasingly demanding thoughts were erected, all bent on _throw him on the bed and __**ravish **__**him**_

Slowly, she smiled, realizing in the logical, back edge of her mind that she was under a spell. But the beautiful thing was, it didn't _matter._ Because she was going to have Lucien here and now.

And she was going to make him _beg_.

It was about then Lucien realized overwhelming a Telvanni's control probably hadn't been the safest of ideas.

* * *

_The money is worth it. The money is _more_ than worth it. _

Luthor Broad closed his eyes and tried very hard to ignore the sounds coming from upstairs.

_You can buy Skingrad's entire stock of wine with what they're paying you._

The damages. Oh, the damages. In his minds' eye, he could _see_ the vases crashing to the floor, the bedside tables splitting down the middle, the chairs losing their legs. When that Synderius fellow came in, the crowd he drew was never gentle on the furniture.

Last time, the elf himself had come down sheepishly bedraggled to tell him he'd broken the bed. There'd been another dark elf with him at the time. A pretty lass with striking red hair and mischief in her eyes.

The woman he'd seen with that Imperial today, come to think of it.

Oh, dear…

_They said they'd pay for everything. All hassle. All damages._

He wasn't going to have a room left intact when this lot finally cleared out. They'd already emptied an entire keg between the lot of them— some twenty-some women and fourteen men by his count. And now that bloody Dunmer was up on the table again

_Don't let it break. Don't let it break. Please, Talos, don't let it break._

"Look here, loves!" Synderius called, waving his arms at the amassed crowd. "I for one, would like to hear some decent music tonight. What d'you say?"

There was a general chorus of drunken support and the thunderous stomping of feet upon his poor floors.

_Don't let them scuff the wood too horribly. Don't let them all try and climb onto the same table like last time. _

"D'we have a fiddle?" Synderius frowned, running a hand through oddly wavy hair. One of his braids had fallen out, been redone by a less than sober woman and fallen out again.

"I've got one!" Someone called from the crowd.

"Mine's bigger!" Someone else shouted, and the laughter that followed had Luthor cringing, expecting a fight.

_Please don't bleed on my nice clean tables again. It took ages to get the stain out._

"Right. Wonderful! Now jus' play The Lonely Farmer's Daughter An' Her Magic Carrot." He grinned impish at his oddly colored Orc friend. "Agronak's gonna _sing_."


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: I know the BHC didn't do a paper for the sacking of Kvatch, but they _should have_.

* * *

Lucien woke curled into the Dunmer beside him, nestled perfectly under her jaw. From what he could see of the room, it was an utter disaster. None of the furniture had survived entirely intact. The bed was missing a post. The bedside table was smashed to bits. The larger table had lost a leg, shattering two wine bottles and as many chairs as it fell. The third chair had been burnt to a cinder and was sitting under the open window, presumably to air out. The chest at the foot of the bed had been shoved against the door, looking as though someone had put a boot through the lid and from the one remaining bedpost hung a drawer wrenched from the bureau.

For the life of him, Lucien couldn't remember which of them had put it there and why. Probably Hanarai. After the fifth go her logic had been a bit flighty.

Lucien smiled and nuzzled into her neck, pulling her closer, an arm tossed across her waist. That had been _amazing_. Better than the apples. A Telvanni without control was a fearsome, beautiful creature. She'd done things to him last night he'd never even fathomed. It was no wonder the Dunmer were generally infertile. Lucien suspected he would be too if every night were like this.

But even as comfortable and warm as he was, he couldn't stay much longer. He'd have work piling up as it was and Ungolim was bound to have a fit if he found him gone. Frowning, Lucien closed his eyes for a moment and simply breathed in. Hanarai smelt of sex and sweat, sunshine and the lingering wisp of perfume.

Beautiful.

Slowly, Lucien extracted himself from her hold, and brushing the soft edge of a sleep spell against the backs of her eyes, he pulled himself from the bed. He'd need to leave a note. Just something to let her know he hadn't run off in the night like a terrified school boy.

And because the symmetry amused him.

It'd have to be something quick and clever. A statement of fact, perhaps, that could be taken more than one way. Hanarai _did_ have a love for double entendres, after all.

_**It's a wonder you have friends at all.**_

_**L**_

A wonder her husband didn't keep her all to himself for weeks on end. Gods knew _he_ would have. How the Bosmer could have stood to have that sort of sexual potential wandering around his house and still walk out the door in the morning was beyond him.

Lucien laughed, leaned over to steal a kiss from the sleeping elf and shouldered his pack. Halfway to the door he stopped to look back. Just to watch her sleep for a moment, sprawled out and barely covered on the bed.

He walked back to the bed, pulling the covers up and over her shoulders with a half sincere smirk.

"Fascinating creature," he murmured, stroking her hair away from her face. "I think I just might keep you."

And with that, he turned and left the room.

* * *

When he reached the main floor, he found the tavern in an uproar. A great many from the party the night before were floundering about, looking confused and vaguely panicked. Hanarai's Dunmer friend was sitting at a table in the midst of it all, a paper in his hands, looking absolutely devastated, the oddly colored Orc at his side.

"You don't understand," he was saying as Lucien approached. "I had a very dear friend there."

Frowning now, Lucien pushed his way through the crowd and made his way outside.

"Getchyer Black Horse Courier here, folks! Black Horse Courier!"

The crowds were thick on the streets as well. He could hear people around him crying, women running from the mass of people, faces covered. Shouldering past the hoard, he hid his face as he took a copy from the man and pulled away, off into a relatively safe alley to read.

He realized then the magnitude of what had happened.

Kvatch had been destroyed. One of the greatest cities in the Empire was a smoking pile of rubble and ash. How many good men had been lost?

How many of the _Family_ had been lost?

"Bloody hell," Lucien swore, watching with sightless eyes as the paper slipped from his fingers, arcing down to land in a mud-tinted puddle.

He had to get back to Cheydinhal _now_.

* * *

Hanarai woke up decidedly uncomfortable, her cheek pressed to a bit of paper that was scratching at her nose. Add to that her pet Imperial had gone and left her with her head cocked in an awkward, painful angle.

This was the start of a horrible day. She could _feel_ it even before she pulled his note away from her cheek.

Had she not destroyed the room already…

Hanarai flung the wretched little thing away from her, exploding it with the sharp edge of a thought.

_A wonder you have friends at all._

Who in the hell did that little Imperial think he was? Some sort of sex god? She had forced his mind inside out, turned his body against him and the man himself into a whimpering, lust crazed puddle. And he had the _gall_ to question her quantity of _friends_?

Hanarai stormed from the bed, gathering her clothes up from the floor. She was going to find him and— No. She wasn't going to find him. She wasn't going to so much as _think_ about him. She was simply going to ship her dear father a crate full of guardians for his poor, failing mine.

Dressing with a wicked grin, she grabbed her pack and sprang from the room… only to find Luthor Broad waiting for her.

"Can I help you?" she snapped. While she was used to finding strange men waiting in the halls of inns for her, it was still just as annoying as it'd always been.

But the innkeep didn't seem attracted to her in the least. Actually, he seemed _irritated_.

"Your friend already left," he said, arms crossed over his chest. "You'll have to pay the damages."

And Hanarai could have _killed_.

* * *

Ungolim waiting for him when he returned. But there was no rage, no boiling argument. Only a mer sitting at his desk looking devastated and beyond exhaustion.

"I take it you've heard about Kvatch," Lucien said, swinging down from the ladder. "How many have we lost?"

"Everyone," he answered, his voice devoid of life or the barest glimmer of hope.

"_Everyone?"_ The pit of his stomach dropped away at the word. "Even Lalatia?"

She had been his favorite— the only Speaker intelligent enough to see past her own sanctuary door. At Ungolim's nod, even Hanarai couldn't make this day brighter.

"Her Silencer?" Lucien asked softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

But the Bosmer shook his head.

"Dead."

"Has anyone…?"

"Banus Alor. He's sifting through the rubble now." There was a painful silence before Ungolim found the words to speak again. "He's convinced some of our number simply fled. There's no dissuading him from it."

"They're welcome here." Lucien frowned, standing. "For Sithis' sake, _don't_ send them to Anvil."

"You still believe Bellamont to be the traitor?" he asked, looking up, an odd, flickering light in his eyes.

"I do, yes," Lucien answered without fear.

"And these unfortunate accidents?"

"Have stopped since Arquen took him."

Ungolim looked away.

"They haven't stopped."

With a sharp curse, Lucien tore a hand through his hair.

"Who." It wasn't a question.

"The Slayer that had him sent to Cheydinhal in the first place. She's missing."

"Could she have been in Kvatch?"

Ungolim shook his head.

"She went to Fort Strand on contract, killed her mark and disappeared."

"That's within shouting distance of Anvil."

"I know." Ungolim slumped in his seat, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and there was ash beneath his nails.

For a moment, they were quiet. But Ungolim broke it with a sigh and looked up.

"Find yourself a Silencer and _soon_, Lachance."

_That_ brought his head up and around with a jerk.

"What"?

"I'm beginning to believe you about Bellamont. However he has Arquen's support and so the Black Hand does not. Find someone to account for your whereabouts, if nothing else. You need as many allies as you can get."

Bloody hell… Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded.

"Consider it done."

"There is one other matter," he said, standing.

Lucien frowned, motioning for him to continue.

"You have a bad habit of going missing just as we need you."

"I was in the Imperial City, fulfilling a contract. Faelian, I believe his name was."

"In this case, I dearly hope someone saw you."

Lucien smiled.

"I spent the night with a Telvanni."

"And survived?" Ungolim asked, startled into laughter. "Perhaps there's more to you than I thought, Lachance."


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Callia Stoine was positive she'd wandered into the wrong sanctuary. Her Speaker had always spoken highly of Lachance's sanctuary— how well it was kept, how beautifully organized. This sanctuary… to be kind, this sanctuary was a chaotic mess.

As far as she could tell, every member here was trying very hard to ignore every other member. There was a Khajiit slinking about with his tail between his legs, three women moving very fast from room to room— very pointedly not looking at each other, two Argonians shouting in the next room; the whole place stunk of garlic and she could hear vampiric laughter echoing up from the basement.

_This_ was not the well-controlled model of a perfect sanctuary she'd been led to believe in. Perhaps she had misunderstood. Perhaps Lachance was running Bruma and this was Alval's sanctuary.

But no, she'd met the mer once and he was _far_ too dignified to allow this sort of thing.

"Hello!" A Bosmer called, coming towards her. "You must be from Kvatch."

Callia tried to smile. But seeing as how her home had been destroyed and she was feeling rather awkwardly out of place… But the Bosmer matched her grim smile, taking her hand to briefly press between her own.

"I know the feeling. It's not usually like this here. Only recently. Some idiot thought he'd be clever and taint the apples."

"With _what_?" Callia frowned, looking around. As far as she knew there weren't any poisons for timidity.

"Aphrodisiac. And assassins tend not to be the best at self control to begin with." She laughed then and the mood lightened. "I'm Telaendril, by the way."

"Callia." She paused, frowning. "May I ask you a question?"

Telaendril nodded, with a small, baffled smile.

"Of course. Anything."

"Why is your vampire _giggling_?"

* * *

"That makes absolutely no sense, Vicente," Clilias snapped, slapping him lightly on the chest. "And you would stop_ laughing_ at me?"

"It makes perfect sense, dear," he purred, pulling her down and into his arms. "You're simply not looking at it properly."

"Properly? He went and changed his name. How is there a proper way to look at it?"

"If you were speaking to Lachance, and for some unfathomable reason decided to be polite, what would you address him as?"

Clilias frowned, wiggling around until she got comfortable, her head nestled against Vicente's stomach.

"Speaker, I suppose."

"_Or?"_ he prompted, with a sliver of a smile, running his fingers through her hair.

Clilias pinched him.

"Would you just tell me what you're looking for?"

"_Mr._ Lachance."

She laughed.

"What does that have to do with _anything_?"

"The Khajiit prefixes are different titles."

Clilias was silent a long moment, digesting this. In the end, she decided Vicente was simply in one of his sillier moods.

"I really doubt M'raaj-Dar is now considered a married woman because he slept with Ocheeva."

Vicente snorted and rolled over, pinning her to the bed.

"_M'_raaj-Dar implies virginity. _S'_raaj-Dar implies he's become a man."

"Oh," Clilias breathed, finding it _very_ hard to think with Vicente above her, a mischievous look in his eye. "I suppose that makes a difference, then."

* * *

Telaendril shook her head and laughed.

"Generally, we survive best _not_ knowing."

Callia laughed.

"This is going to sound odd, but this _is_ Lucien Lachance's sanctuary, yes?"

Nodding, the Bosmer took her hand and led her towards the living chambers.

"We've had some… difficulties lately. I'm sure it'll all be back to normal in a few weeks."

She smiled and followed her, jumping when a _very_ tall Orc rounded the corner.

"Telaendril—" he began but the Wood Elf make a quick, frustrated gesture that stopped him in his tracks.

"No, Grogon. It was your own fault and I still _don't_ _forgive you_. Bugger off."

And then, flashing a suddenly cheerful smile at Callia, she pulled her into the living quarters.

* * *

Lucien collected his papers from the desk, sincerely hoping this wouldn't take the rest of the week. The Empire was threatening to collapse and so of course, there had never been a larger demand for murders. People wanting their neighbors dead and too bloody stupid to do it themselves… Husbands wanting their wives gone and too cowardly to manage on their own… Women wanting their husbands killed and too weak to tie them to the ceiling…

He smiled at that, tucking the papers into hidden pockets about his person. Hanarai really was a breed all to her own. Perhaps, if these bloody stupid consultations took him past Chorrol…

No, he had to much to worry about. Eight more contracts needed to be written up. Eight more bloody stupid idiots to visit.

Possibly four more days before he'd have a second to himself.

Already aggravated, Lucien grabbed his pack and swung up the ladder.

Hanarai smirked as, invisible, she crept into Lucien's fort. A moment ago he'd ridden off, muttering to himself or the horse about the idiots of Cyrodiil. She'd watched him leave knowing he'd be gone for a least a day— more than enough time to set her wicked plan in action.

Striding as soon as the door had clanged shut behind her, she stopped in the tunnel crossroads, grinning.

"Soldiers! Report!" she shouted, and from all around her there came a general chorus of creaking bones, stirring to her call.

_Perfect_.

* * *

Hannibal Traven had been having a rather pleasant day. The last Necromancer-killed mage had been laid to rest the day before, there were no angry souls wandering Wellspring Cave, and that new Conjurer was making good headway in the guild. Already he'd proved invaluable on a number of occasions. Namely ferreting the Necromancers from Wellspring Cave in the first place, and later mucking about in Vahtacen.

All in all, the day was going rather well and he was just sitting down to have tea when the commotion outside caught his attention. He could hear a number of his Battle Mages shouting something about Necromancy, as he watched the great cloud of spent magicka floating up past his window.

Regretfully drawing himself away from his nice scrib-jelly on toast, he made his way down to see what the ruckus was about.

There, standing at the doorstep of the Arcane University was a very pretty Dunmer woman, looking incredibly irritated, surrounded by six dark guardians and a heavy magical shield. She wasn't fighting back— merely standing there, arms crossed, as they flung spells at her, her dark guardians lunging against the barrier she'd erected. He was reminded strongly of his childhood then— of being very small and attempting to beat sense into an older brother with infuriatingly long arms.

Chuckling to himself, he made his way down the steps and put his hand on the closest Battle Mage. He'd meant for it to be a gentle, non-surprising way to call this useless endeavor to a halt. But instead he managed to startle the man so badly his shot went wild. And together they all watched as it sailed off over the Imperial City… and shattered a window in White-Gold Tower.

There went his pleasant day.

"Well, now that the sound of property damage has collected everyone's attention," he began, trying to sound like an authoritative Arch-Mage while feeling more like a tired old man who knew his tea and toast was getting cold, "perhaps we can stop to ask questions before we set about breaking more of Ocato's windows."

The pretty Dunmer girl smirked and lowered her shield.

"That _would_ be a nice start, I think."

"Back to your posts, all of you," he snapped fondly. He may be an old dog with few teeth, but there was no reason he couldn't growl a little. "I think I can handle one young woman and her pets."

After a begrudging moment, the battle mages slunk back to their posts and Traven smiled.

"You'll have to excuse them. A band of Necromancers hit very close to home recently and it has us all a bit on edge."

"Understandable," she said with a sharp nod, and turned to click her tongue at the dark guardian trying to ease away from the pack.

Travan cocked a white eyebrow with a soft, questioning tilt of the head.

"He's spotted that woman's necklace and he wants it," she said by way of explanation.

"Yes, of course." He nodded as if this made sense to him, all the while wondering how long it'd take Ocato to come down, and if he'd be angry enough to set something on fire. He knew how stressed the mer was with the entire empire resting on his shoulders and while he felt badly for adding to it, Ocato _did_ know some very impressive fireworks.

"May I ask why you've come here trailing six undead guards?" Traven asked, picking up his train of thought again.

The Dunmer woman nodded.

"Yes. I'd like you to send these to the guildhall in Sadrith Mora.

"And here I was hoping you'd come for something simple like tea," he said, a small smile playing at his lips. "Why, exactly, is it crucial you get these to Morrowind?"

She smiled a charmingly crooked smile, tucking her hands behind her back.

"They're a gift for my father."

Traven laughed, and looked up just in time to see a very distinct, very _upset_ Altmer storming towards him. The good mood fizzled out and he and sighed, shaking his head with a small smile of his own.

"My girl, I think you've come at the worst possible time."


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Hanarai hadn't actually seen Ocato before. He was very tall, even for an Altmer, with brown-blond hair carefully slicked back and long, pretty fingers.

"Traven," he growled and she had to try hard to look appropriately apologetic, for his voice had a _very_ nice sort of growl to it.

Almost like Lucien's.

Hanarai shoved the thought off and straightened— looking older, prim and mature.

"It was my fault, actually," she said, subtly positioning herself between the old Imperial and the Imperial Battlemage. "I should have sent word before showing up with six skeletons. I'll be more than happy to pay for the damages."

Ocato blinked, faltering in his anger. He had expected a lot of things, but not that. To be honest, he hadn't even noticed the dark guardians around her. Realizing just how tired he _was_, the High Chancellor laughed and stepped back, rubbing at his eyes.

"That won't be necessary," Traven stepped in; putting a gentle, weathered hand against her arm. "They were my battle mages. I'll have it fixed by morning, Ocato. Perhaps you should get some rest in the mean time?"

There was a twist of a smile to the corner of Ocato's lips as he looked up, locking eyes with the Telvanni in front of him.

"I believe you're missing one," he said, nodding in the direction of the wandering skeleton. "It appears he's after Lex's armor."

Hanarai pursed her lips and glared at the guardian before bringing a hand to her mouth. A moment later a whistle rent the air and dogs all over the Imperial City suddenly looked towards the Arcane University. But it pierced the skull of the dark guardian, and that was the important thing. He turned to look at her before dragging himself back looking rather sheepish… if undead could _look_ sheepish.

"You know, I don't believe I've ever seen anyone wandering around the city with a host of undead in tow," Ocato said still smiling and half wondering if he were really asleep at his desk.

"They're a gift," Hanarai answered the unspoken question with a plain smile of her own.

No pretenses. No pretending. No act. She knew full well this mer would see right through them, even as exhausted as he was.

"Have you eaten?" she asked. "I can't imagine running my household alone, let alone an empire. And you look absolutely wretched."

Ocato laughed, acknowledging the truth in that.

"She does have a point, Ocato," Traven pressed with a smile. It would be lovely to finally see the mer take some time away from his multitude of duties for himself. "Perhaps you should consider."

"I _can_ take care of myself, thank you," he said with a smile in his eyes. "But for the moment, the Empire's my main concern. Good day to you both."

Hanarai tried not to frown as he turned and walked back down the path, an exhausted slump to his shoulders. As far as first meetings with persons of profound influence went, it wasn't the worst. She _had_ rather suspected Ocato would take a good deal of work… and wouldn't be that much fun at _all_.

She did frown then, musing at her own idiosyncrasies. How was it that she could plot to rule the Empire one day, and put it all aside the next to better play with her new assassin?

"Don't take it personally, miss," Travin murmured beside her, a hand on her arm. "He's simply too busy for his own good. Come, let's get those creatures of yours to Sadrith Mora before they all take to assaulting the guards."

Hanarai smiled at that and turned to follow him in, gesturing for her guardians to follow after. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt anything to play with Lucien a little longer. After all, he _was_ more fun than she'd had in ages. And Ocato probably wouldn't want anything to do with anyone until after he found another emperor. So she'd do best to simply enjoy what she had. Maybe once Lucien grew too old and boring for her tastes, she'd turn her attentions to the Imperial Battlemage.

Yes, she decided, holding the door open for the six dead soldiers. That sounded like a very nice, very _logical_ idea.

* * *

S'raaj-Dar took the poison he'd brewed away from the fire, stirring the cauldron as he began to cool the center of the liquid. Tendrils of sweet smelling magicka sprawled out and away as he did it, intertwining with the mist. But S'raaj-Dar frowned, looking through it.

He was _very_ upset with himself. Should have known that he could brew a proper love spell. Why in the hell did he have to go and _taste_ it? He should have suspected it would make the first person within shouting distance into his lover. Should have known better than to take it in the sanctuary at all.

He _could_ have very subtly tested it just before he went up to speak with Ashni. And if it _didn't_ work, he could have had a second plan waiting in reserve.

But no, he'd gone and done something totally idiotic.

Well, it didn't matter now. He'd be on his way to Fort Sutch within the hour. It shouldn't take too long to slip the poison in the place of Roderick's medicine. And then he'd sprint out of there and be on his way to Malacath's shrine to see his beautiful Ashni.

She wouldn't need to know that he'd recently had a bit of an encounter with an Argonian. Hopefully, he'd scrubbed enough so that she couldn't smell Ocheeva in his fur at all. _Sithis_, what an embarrassment that'd be.

Wincing to himself at the thought, he scrounged around for his funnel and filtered the poison into its vial. Hopefully, he'd be done within ten minutes of reaching the bloody stupid fort. Of course, it was on the other side of the world. That only figured. But the act itself should be perfectly simple. Night Mother willing, it _would_ be.

S'raaj-Dar purred thinking of his beautiful, soon to be seduced kitten and corked the bottle before turning to check his pack.

Moon sugar? Check.

Copy of Boethiah's Pillow Book as an interesting present? Check.

Extra clothes? Check.

Poisoned apples? Check.

Yarn? Check.

S'raaj-Dar grinned. He was ready to go.

* * *

"Vicente, I don't trust you when you smile at me like that," Clilias said with well-hidden amusement, looking at the bottle in her hand. "What does it do?"

"Half the fun is finding out," he purred, moving close enough to press a kiss to the crook of her neck.

"What does it _do_, Vicente?"

She could feel his smile curving against her skin, his breath crypt-cool as he answered.

"Drink it."

"No. Absolutely not," Clilias said and set it to the side. "I do not trust you in the least."

And then Vicente was kneeling on the bed behind her, those clever fingers working out the knots in her shoulders.

"You don't know. It could be grand."

"I'm sure it'll be bloody hilarious for you, yes." She really couldn't work up feeling enough to glare at him and so settled for pinching him in the thigh instead. "But I'm not going to drink it until you tell me what it does."

"I promise you, you won't regret it," he said, capturing her hand before she could pinch him again and brought it to his lips. "_Please?"_

"You're never this concerned over anything of actual importance, Vicente," she grinned playfully, taking her hand back. "So you can see why you make me nervous."

"Do I really?" There was a feral light in his eyes, a wicked tug to the corner of his lips.

"Stop that," she managed and looked away, trying desperately to control her heartbeat before Vicente heard it.

Too late. He pinned her to the bed a moment later, looming over her with a mischievous grin.

"You know you'll enjoy it," he murmured, stealing a kiss.

"Bloody hell, Vicente. I'm _tired_. You barely let me sleep."

He laughed and released her, sliding down to curl into her shoulder.

"Perhaps my potion will help with that."

Clilias laughed and slipped a hand around to unbind his hair.

"If I know you, and I suspect I do, that potion will be a mix between a healing potion and an aphrodisiac. I am _exhausted_, Vicente. Let me sleep."

She didn't have to look at him to know he was staring at her with the pout of his that got her every time.

"No, Vicente."

Silence, but she could _feel_ those puppy-dog eyes on the under side of her jaw.

"_No_."

His breath was like cool gossamer against her skin, sharp contrast to the flush rising in her face.

"Vicente, you can wait until tomorrow. I'm fairly certain you won't explode."

He shifted then, nuzzling into her neck, teeth just barely brushing against her skin. Clilias growled and turned, pinning _him_ to the bed.

"You win," she snapped.

Laughing, Vicente reached up to push a strand of hair away from her face.

"Dear child, I'm three and a half centuries old. Of course—"

"But you're not getting _anything_ until you drink that potion yourself."

_That_ was enough to stop him in his tracks. Clilias laughed as his eyes went wide, a bit of color draining from his face.

"It's alright," she purred, leaning down to play with his hair. "I understand if you don't _want_ to."

"Beautiful, _wretched_ woman," Vicente growled and groped for the bottle. "Absolutely horrible."

Clilias grinned and tapped him on the nose.

"I know."


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Lucien likes to play with the character creation wizard too. XD Oh, and the NaNo cut off starts at the end of this chapter. I've only just got around to writing Hanarai again, so I'm trying to shoulder my way back in. Beware of possible stylechange next chapter.

* * *

Dressed in commoner's clothing, Lucien met the first woman in the Arboretum. They sat together on a stone bench, her head on his shoulder, the two of them looking like lovers. They were both watching the man in the distance, dancing around the statues of the gods with a waif of an elf, their laughter melding together.

"That's him?" Lucien asked with a subtle incline of the head towards them.

The woman nodded, pulling her feet up beside her on the bench before reaching over to arrange her dress.

"That's him. Primo Antonius."

"Young," he commented, without really thinking.

"And an idiot," the woman snapped bitterly. "Look at him there with his little whore. Putting me by as if _I_ were the other woman."

Lucien made a noncommittal noise and began to stroke her hair as Antonius caught sight of them and stopped.

"Have you any… requirements?" he asked, locking eyes with the boy, making sure the spell that distorted his features was firmly in place.

"Make him _suffer_," she growled and closed her eyes, relaxing into him. "I want his last thought to be of me, and how much he regrets having put me aside for that empty headed idiot of his."

Lucien smirked, eyes still locked with Antonius'.

"Done, madam."

They stood then, and walked together as far as the Market District. He knew the boy was following behind. His unsubtle stare and too-loud footsteps gave him dead away. Antonius wanted a confrontation, but it was far too late for that. Perhaps he should have thought of such things _before_ his fiancé summoned the Dark Brotherhood.

Smiling, Lucien left the lady at the doorstep to her home and ducked into an alley, letting his chameleon spell drift over him as soon as he was gone from public view A moment later he strode out, heading for the stables, leaving the baffled Antonius to flounder in his wake.

* * *

Lucien sat in the very corner of the inn at Aleswell, nursing a pint of ale and trying to discern why exactly they kept a mad Dunmer around anyway. So far, the crazed mer had been talking non-stop about the beautiful Bosmer girl who'd come the week before to remove _that bloody stupid wizard's curse_. Apparently, he'd been _invisible for a whole week. Can you believe it?_ And Lucien was beginning to understand why the barmaids looked close to suicide.

They were probably related.

Lucien made sure the shadow of his hood covered his face and set about playing with his features. This was one part of his job he _did_ enjoy— making himself out to be unmistakable half-breeds and distinctive, murderous looking old men. There was no way any of his clients would forget the face he showed them. And so they would never mistake the hideous Orc-Khajiit they'd hired to murder their mate for the dashingly handsome Imperial fellow over in the corner.

He'd just finished when his client walked in— an Imperial man in dirt stained clothing. And, Lucien realized with a sudden jolt, a Legion Forrester. Slipping one hand under the table, he readied a powerful paralysis, all the while cursing that bloody Phillida. They'd not had trouble with the man for ages and now he wanted to start this old war again? Well, he'd give them a war. He'd give them a blood bath.

But the man ordered an ale and came to his table without incident. Unarmed. Unarmored. A show of trust.

"I admit," Lucien purred in a distinctive Khajiiti drawl. "I wasn't expecting a member of the guard."

He almost laughed at the look on the man's face— obviously torn between disgust at his profession and raging shock at his appearance.

"I wouldn't normally do this, you understand," he growled finally, dropping inelegantly into his seat. "But Lex says if I get involved in this he'll dock my pay. And that's the last thing I need with Syloria in her condition."

"Condition?" He allowed himself a smirk then, enjoying his goading this man into open disgust.

"She's pregnant."

There was venom in the word. Lucien's smirk broadened.

"It is not your son?"

The Forrester snorted.

"Oh, I doubt it. That fetching Nord got her drunk and knocked up, I'll bet money on it. But she's _my wife_, damnit. I have to do something. Fetching Lex won't even let me protect my own godsdamned wife!" his voice cracked and he looked away abruptly, taking a long swig to steady his nerves.

Lucien couldn't help but notice his hands were shaking.

"This man?"

"Nels. Calls himself Nels the Naughty now, the pig." He swung around to look Lucien in his mismatched eyes, never mind they were drifting in two different directions. "When you catch him, make him _suffer_."

Lucien nodded and finished his ale, rising from the table.

"Consider it done."

And as he walked outside, he couldn't help but dwell a moment on the raw pain in the man's eyes. But it was nothing— a trifling matter that had nothing at all to do with him. So he pressed it away and whistled to his horse, coming close enough to let her snuffle at his collar until she was satisfied this hideous crossbreed was him.

Only three more to go today. It was possible he'd even be able to make it home before midnight. Cheering slightly, Lucien jumped into the saddle and spurred his horse on. The faster he got back to Cheydinhal, the faster he got his work done. The faster he got his work done, the sooner he could ride off to Chorrol and play.

Laughing at the thought, Lucien dropped the illusion and straightened his hood. Perhaps today wouldn't be as wretched as he thought.

* * *

"I needed help," the witch woman spat, striding from cauldron to table and back again. "There were goblins ravaging the area, you see, but he wouldn't so much as lift a hand to help. Called me a _liar_."

Lucien sat in a chair next to the fire, facing the door with his back comfortably against the wall, looking something like a cross between a Bosmer and a troll.

"A woman of your caliber, surely you could take care of such a matter yourself?" he asked delicately. He had so much work to do as it was. Why couldn't the witch take care of her own bloody murder?

But she simply smiled and shook her head before turning back to her mandrake.

"Oh, there are things I could do to him. Poisons. Dreams. Little nightmares wrapped in pretty paper. But they aren't _enough_, you see. He's been in the legion twenty years, you know. I could send him visions of creatures so terrible as to have scattered armies with the breath of a word, but no doubt he'd have seen such things before."

She sighed and shrugged, scraping the slivered mandrake off and into the pot. Lucien recognized the poison she was making by the smell, but chose to ignore it.

"Is there a way you'd like him killed?"

"Yes," the witch woman turned to fix him with a gold studded smile. "Slowly."

* * *

There were not many things that could faze a cold-blooded assassin of the Dark Brotherhood. Walking into a large herd of Sheogorath's worshippers… _reveling_ was one of those things. To be honest, he'd never seen so many naked people in such extravagant headwear before in his life.

Fortunately, he didn't have to see it for very long. A Breton man pulled away from the crowd and snatched a simple cotton robe up from the ground before coming to meet him.

"You're the assassin?" he asked without batting an eye at Lucien's new bird-nose.

Rather disappointed he hadn't managed to get a reaction out of this one, Lucien nodded, arms crossed.

"I am. Why did you summon me?"

"I need you to kill a nasty little Breton woman for me. Matilde Petit."

"Oh?" Lucien asked and leaned back subtly as the Breton leaned in.

"Yes, she's been spreading gossip about me. It's all true, of course, but that's not the sort of thing I like people to know about," he said and smiled.

There was lettuce stuck between his teeth. Lucien closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath through his nose to keep himself from laughing at the funny little man.

"What sort of thing is that?"

"You know," the man sidled closer, his eyes sparkling. "Sheogorath and his… _fun_. Have I seen you here before?"

"I doubt that," Lucien said, suddenly very aware how Hanarai must have felt every time she came within twenty feet of that Indarys boy.

"Why don't you join us?" The man asked and grinned in a way Lucien assumed he thought was seductive. "We haven't had anyone as handsome as you here in _ages_."

"As lovely as that offer sounds, I'll have to decline," he smiled and elegantly sidestepped. "I've… business to attend to, after all."

The man laughed and sat down on one of the benches.

"I don't think that stupid old woman'll take up _too_ much of your time. Why don't you send someone else to take care of her and come right back, hmm? We'll be waiting."

"Perhaps I will," Lucien purred with a nod of the head and promptly retreated to where he'd left his horse.

From now on, he was going to take every contract involving Sheogorath, sneak into the Bruma sanctuary and slip them all into _Uvani's_ contract pile. Because there was no way in hell he was coming back this way again.

Though he couldn't help but wonder what Hanarai would think of the funny, sex-crazed little man.

* * *

The last client was a wealthy Imperial woman. She was quite lovely with her long brown hair and enchanting, dark eyes. Or she would have been had her bearing not been tainted with grief.

"You're the one I sent for?" she asked, rising as the servant showed him in.

Lucien nodded, remembering in time he had to make the motion deeper when masquerading as an Altmer. Or half Altmer anyway…

"Good." There was a fierce determination in her eyes as she shook his hand and led him to a seat before the fire.

Outside, snow was just beginning to fall, turning the windowsill outside a funny sort of brownish-gray.

"Our business, madam?" he asked, with a sharp nod in the direction of the door.

The servant hadn't left.

"Oh, that's no matter." She sighed and stood again, turning towards the bookshelf to pull at an empty sconce. Silently, the bookshelf slipped back and aside, revealing the tiny office within.

Gently, the woman took his hand again and led him inside, shutting the bookshelf just as quietly.

"He thinks he's very clever," she murmured, sinking down into an over stuffed chair. "Thinks he's left no sign of his little affair. Sends the servants to keep tabs on me and report to him if they so much as suspect I know. I don't know what he'll do if I find out. I don't care to know. I just want the woman gone."

"The woman?" Lucien stopped his inspection of the cleverly hidden door and turned. "Not your husband?"

She shook her head, and the lines grief had etched in her face grew that much more prominent.

"I love him," she whispered, staring at nothing. "I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Find someone more suited to your loyalty, I suspect," Lucien said with a smile, sitting down across from her. "Are you certain—"

"_Yes_," she snapped, a little life flaring into her eyes. "I want that whore of a Dunmer _dead_."

A small corner of Lucien's heart froze.

A Dunmer woman who liked to play with powerful, wealthy men…

"Her name?" he asked, as inside a dark corner of his mind laughed.

_And what will you do if she says Hanarai Arvel? Will you refuse? _Can_ you?_

"Dovesi Dran."

He relaxed, smiling.

"Any particular way you want her killed? Poison? Blade?"

But the Imperial woman shrugged and stood, restless.

"She's destroyed me. I've aged ten years since she took up with my husband. I want her to pay that time back, to know what it feels like…"

"To suffer?" Lucien asked. It wasn't, apparently, a pleasant day in Cyrodiil.

The Imperial woman turned with a sad, sleek smile.

"Yes. Make her suffer."


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

Author's Note: Alright. I've finally finished this. It's 38 chapters in total and will update regularly (hopefully) from now until it's all up. If I seem to be taking too long between updates, I've probably forgotten again. Drop me a line and I'll put one up.

* * *

Hanarai couldn't help feeling immensely pleased with herself as she wandered aimlessly around the room of her inn. She simply had to go to Cheydinhal and see how that arrogant s'wit liked his dungeon now. But she couldn't go right away. One, he had to _notice_ his missing guardians first and two, she didn't want to look desperate. Even though she'd only followed him back to Cheydinhal to steal his guardians, she'd felt incredibly awkward every time she caught sight of his horse between the trees.

And so she was stuck, halfway between _here_ and _there_, casting about for anything to do. Though if those idiots below her sang The Drunken Dragon-Steed one more time, she was going to go down there and strangle their _Hero of Kvatch _herself.

Fetching Khajiit. Why'd they need to sing at him anyway?

Sprawling back to lay on the bed, she covered her eyes and tried very hard to ignore the drunken reveling going on below. If Lucien were here—

Hanarai stopped that thought in its tracks. Just because she'd taken to playing with the Imperial did not mean she was going to lie here _day dreaming_ about him like some love sick idiot.

Though picturing the look on his face when he realized his guardians were gone without a trace…

Hanarai giggled. _That_ was basking in her own cleverness. It had absolutely nothing to do with lovesick idiocy.

Smiling now, she rose and went to the window, watching the snow drifting down outside. She could see people walking in, hand in hand, snow settling in their hair. The sight caused a pang of longing in the pit of her stomach she absolutely could not fathom.

It almost felt like jealousy.

Absolutely absurd, of course. She had dozens of men to come at her beck and call after all. Why would she want another?

Unbidden, Lucien's smile sprang into mind— the lopsided, boyish grin she found so utterly charming. Granted, it never happened very often. And generally, it took a good deal of wine and a bit of a surprise to coax it out. But the sight of it always set her aglow.

Realizing exactly where this train of thought was going, Hanarai shook the thought away and turned from the window, forcing her thoughts to rest on Falcar instead. The poor dear. He was probably freezing in that ruin of his. And with the Mages' Guild chasing after the lot of them…

Hanarai frowned, sprawling inelegantly over the bed for the simple reason there was no one there to watch.

Perhaps she'd go to Cheydinhal early tomorrow. She didn't have to go up to the fort, after all. She could simply… wander around town.

* * *

Lucien was exhausted by the time he staggered away from Shadowmere. The constant drain on his magicka had taken its toll and he wanted nothing more than to fall into his nice, comfortable bed and sleep. But as soon as he reached the foot of the ladder, he realized something was wrong.

The fort was silent.

Alarmed, he waged a quick and futile search for his guardians, but they were gone. Not even a scattered bone or scrap of cloth marked their departure.

_Gone_.

As were his front door handles, he realized.

_Shiny._

"Sithis _damn_ you, Hanarai," he spat.

Without him here to watch them, they'd gone and stolen his door handles and made their way off into the world. And _damnit_ were dark guardians hard to train. Swearing under his breath, Lucien pushed his way outside. There was no way he could stay here to sleep. Even if the door could still be locked, it just wasn't safe without his guardians. Anyone could waltz in and shoot him through the bars of the grate before he'd even woken up.

Feeling every muscle in his body protest as he swung himself back into Shadowmere's saddle, Lucien spurred her on towards Cheydinhal.

"Can't even trust my own bloody Sanctuary," he muttered. "Sithis only knows what they've been doing."

Shadowmere snorted and Lucien's lip twitched.

"Good to know I'm not the only one," he told her, patting her absently on the neck and wondering what in the hell he was supposed to do now.

* * *

When the drunken lot below tucked into singing The Lonely Farmer's Daughter and Her Magic Carrot for the seventh time, Hanarai gave up trying to sleep. She was going to Cheydinhal, damnit, and gods help her if anyone there should start _singing_.

Lucien woke in a strange bed, staring at the ceiling of his room in the inn and not sure what had woken him in the first place.

"Ma'am, I can't simply kick a customer out!" He heard from outside.

"Yes, I understand," another woman answered, almost patronizing in her calm. "But I'm not staying unless I stay in _that_ room. So I would like my money back, please."

Lucien laughed and rose from the bed. Shoving aside the armoire he'd dragged before the door, he leaned out into the hall.

Sure enough, Hanarai was standing there with her arms crossed, looking intensely angry and nearly as tired as he was.

"Hello, darling," he purred. "I'm flattered that you would take the time to follow me here."

She fixed him with an odd, blank stare. He rather suspected _this_ was the pause before Hanarai chose which mask to wear.

"You know her, sir?" the innkeeper asked, looking between the two of them.

Lucien smiled.

"Of course. I make a habit of keeping company with beautiful women."

Hanarai looked at him, wondered what in the hell his game was now. Lucien seemed genuinely happy to see her. He _was_ playing, and it almost seemed as though it was _with_ her rather than opposite her.

"You're welcome to join me, if you like," he added, eyes sparkling, already devising ways to… _punish_ Hanarai for inadvertently facilitating his guardian's escape.

But she only stared at him coldly, that same in-between mask look, before turning back to the innkeeper with a, "My money please."

Lucien had slept with scores of women in his time. More than enough to know when one was upset. He recognized it in the angle of her arms, and the way she planted her feet apart. She was ready to fight; she _wanted_ a fight. That was totally familiar to him. No, it was _how do I go about fixing this situation_ that had him baffled.

That and the realization that he wanted to fix it. No one else had ever really mattered enough to him to bother.

"Hanarai," he ventured carefully, stepping into the hall.

But she simply glared at the innkeeper, a threatening, half-hidden ball of magic glowing in the cup of her hand. Lucien stepped back. He did not want to deal with a truly angry, powerful Telvanni. Hanarai was dangerous enough when they played together— she'd done things to him in their nights together that made it _very_ obvious just what would happen if she decided to be _mean_.

"Yes, of course," the innkeeper stammered, breaking the moment as she handed back coinage. "Best of luck find…finding another room, miss."

She nodded at the poor human and picked up her bags, striding off down the hall, leaving Lucien to his thoughts. He had no idea what it was that had set her off. He couldn't think of anything he'd done. They'd left on marvelous terms. He'd even forgone the opportunity of writing a scathing little note.

Glaring, Lucien threw on proper clothing, grabbed his cloak and slipped back out into the hall. Damned if he was just going to let Hanarai just sweep off. She was the first woman he'd met in ages brave enough, _strong_ enough not only to play with him, but to _match_ him. And he was certainly not the sort to let a lover walk off without a word.

Besides, if anyone had a right to be angry, it was _him_.

Glowering now, anger breeding until it had burned a restless hole into the pit of his stomach, Lucien cast himself invisible and followed Hanarai out into the street. He caught sight of her just as she ducked into the inn across the street.

Dodging two guards as they came off shift, he followed her, still cloaked in shadows. He entered the building in time to hear her muttering something about, "_n'wah loving trash"_ just before she stopped to talk to the innkeeper. The rooms here were cheap, Lucien knew from experience. And more often than not there was a fight raging through the dining room. Never mind the men who made a career of wandering about offering _company._

The more Lucien thought about the situation, the more his following Hanarai seemed like a good idea.

* * *

He was following her.

Her stupid little Imperial was _following her_ and she did _not_ have the patience to deal with him today.

Hanarai grit her teeth, knuckles going gray on the handles of her bags.

_Ignore him_, she chanted internally to herself. _Ignore him and he'll wander off._

But the thing of it was, she'd spent most of the night listening to the same bar song over and over and over and suddenly she _really_ wanted to bash some heads against the ceiling. Add to that the nasty little s'wit had the stones to pretend nothing had happened after writing her a note like that.

_A wonder you have friends…_

Well, it wasn't as though she'd have to pay damages. That trash Dervera _encouraged_ fights in her building. Hanarai pushed open the door to her room, dropped her bags on the bed and spun with a dangerous smile.

"Alright, Lucien," she purred. "You want to play? Let's play."


	30. Chapter Thirty

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Lucien sprawled exhausted on the remnants of the mattress, Hanarai tucked close under his arm, surveying the wreckage of the room. The bed had completely shattered, taking with it a small table and chair. The doorknob was melted, bits of metal still attempting to ooze down the wood. Somewhere along the line, Hanarai had sent him crashing into the chest of drawers, leaving a man-sized dent in the center of it. The walls were coated with ice or singe marks, depending on which way one looked and the floor…

The floor currently played host to the shards of a flower pot, ceramic basin, two wine bottles and their glasses, the window frame with three of its nails intact, a scrap of the original carpet and the decimated remains of what had probably been a broom. The clothes Hanarai had been wearing when they started were completely burnt, as was the mattress, Lucien's feet hanging a good foot or so past the end of it.

He smiled to himself and curled closer into Hanarai, reaching to stroke a hand through her hair. An epic battle--violent, marvelous sex… Lucien couldn't remember the last time he'd been this content. For the last three hours, he'd been too distracted to think about anything but _her_ and it was perfect.

But now… But now he realized exactly how many things he had to worry about. With his guardians gone, there was no way he could return to the fort without _some_ protection. But there was the matter of his things—more importantly the Dark Brotherhood paperwork—that needed moved and _fast_. His safety was important, but so was that of the guild's. He'd locked the tree-door and shoved a number of the old fort stoneworks in front of the fort doors, but for a determined thief…

For a traitor… He still had the unfortunate accidents to worry about. And then the sheer amount of contracts filtering in. His workload was _huge_. All these people to kill, problems to solve, his hide to watch, his sanctuary to repair, his—

Hanarai shifted in her sleep, effectively catching his attention. What a lovely way to spend the night.

_Spend the night…_

Somewhere in the twisted recesses of his mind, an idea flickered into life. All those clients he'd recently met had all wanted generally the same thing. Make them suffer; make it _slow_. Were he to put them all in a house together, one of his brood killing them off one by one. They'd need to come willingly. A party, perhaps? No, too much attention.

…What about a riddle? A challenge? Come to the house, get locked in until you find… money, jewels, _something_ hidden in the house. But there wouldn't be any money and only the assassin would have the key.

He grinned at his brilliant plan. It was perfect! There was absolutely nothing that could possibly go wrong.

Except he had no house.

"You're thinking again," Hanarai murmured, not as asleep as he'd thought. "I hate that."

"Darling," he purred, "Would you happen to have an extra house?"

"_What_?" she asked, blinking the sleep-fog from her mind.

"An extra house? One of your friends, perhaps?"

"Why?"

"I need to host a… dinner party of sorts."

"_You_?" she laughed and leaned back against the mattress. "Forgive me, dear. But you're not exactly socially conscious."

"You have no idea," he chuckled, wicked plots twisting in pleasing patterns behind his eyes.

Silence reigned a moment before Hanarai's interest peaked.

"What sort of dinner party?"

"There's been a series of… incidents within the Brotherhood. I feel it must be discussed."

"So business?" she asked, disappointed and sinking back down into the mattress. "How boring, Lucien."

He shrugged.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it. My guardians have all wandered off and I _need_ a safe haven for the members of the Black Hand to meet."

"Don't you have somewhere designed for this sort of thing?" Hanarai asked, feeling vaguely guilty all of a sudden, realizing Lucien was at this inn only because he couldn't go home.

"We did, actually." His lips twisted in a pained grimace of a smile. "It's been compromised."

"Ah…" She laid back into the niche where Lucien's arm met his chest, but suddenly it wasn't as comfortable as it had been. Lucien may have tainted all of the apples in her house (and he thought she wouldn't notice), may have attempted to poison her on multiple occasions, may even have attempted and nearly suceeded to drive her mad more than once during their nights together. But he was never malicious about it. And even his poisons…

"I've a friend," she began, suddenly uneasy in her own skin. "He's out of town at the moment. Visiting family in Valenwood. But he has a manor in Skingrad. Summitmist Manor, I believe he calls it."

* * *

When S'raaj-Dar returned to the sanctuary, everything was quiet. Which was just as well. Because if that damned vampire would have started giggling again, he'd probably have to have taken matters into his own hands. And gods knew that wouldn't be a wise idea.

Running a hand through his fur, the Khajiit made his way directly to bed, looking and speaking to no one.

His brilliant plan, the one that would leave him with a beautiful woman totally enraptured with him to the point of wanting no other man no matter how beautiful their fur or the curl of their whiskers, the one that couldn't _possibly_ fail…

Had failed.

Ashni was not at the shrine. He'd arrived, hair fiercely wild, whiskers combed, moon sugar in hand only to have some strange Bosmer tell him, _"Sanguine has a greater purpose for her."_

Sanguine be damned, _he_ had a greater purpose for her. And no one would tell him where it was that she had gone. Always answering his questions with that damned calm, "_Sanguine directs her fate with a steady hand."_ And "_Fear not, child. Sanguine sees all."_

It was enough to drive him mad!

Ripping a paw through his carefully wild mane in frustration, S'Raaj-dar stormed into the living quarters. He was going to eat every scrap of food they had, and then he was going to bed.

* * *

Gaenor frowned down at the compass in his hand, fairly certain that if he didn't find Hanarai soon, this damn bag would tear his shoulder off. He wasn't sure what was wrong. She'd had this compass enchanted to point towards her no matter where she was . But it seemed as soon as he started off in one direction, she'd already gone the opposite. It _could_ be that she'd simply decided to spend each week in a different town. His lady had done stranger things before.

Or his special compass could be broken.

At least it was still pointing to Cheydinhal. That was a blessing at least.

Still frowning, he wove his way through town, eyes fixed on his compass. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he probably looked like a madman but he couldn't find the motivation to care. Whatever it was that Hanarai had waiting for her was damned heavy and he'd been carrying it _far too long_.

* * *

Lucien glared at the knock on the door, the paralysis spell fading from his fingertips.

"Who in the hell…" he muttered, turning.

"Miss. Hanarai?" a tentative voice called from outside. "Are you in?"

"Oh! Letters!" Hanarai grinned, clapping her hands together and sprang from the bed to steal one of Lucien's shirts from the floor.

The man's brows knit further and he turned, rather aggravated that his playing had been interrupted for another man's love letter.

"How does he even know you're _here_?"

But she was already opening the door, the fringe of his shirt just _barely_ covering what it was meant to cover.

"You've a lot today, miss," the boy chirped, unloading the packages and letters into her waiting arms. And then, seeing all the packages were from the same man, "Someone certainly loves you."

She laughed, agreed and paid him extra _for his poor arms_, before shutting the door to rifle through her things.

Lucien watched, arms crossed, aggravated and jealous as her face lit at the name on a letter. And then, without warning, the boxes and letters tumbled from her arms, her happiness dying an abrupt death as she brought both hands up to clutch the letter.

"Hanarai?" he asked, pushing away from the wall with a frown. "What's wrong?"

At the sound of her name, she jerked into herself. But the look in her eyes was vague and distant, utterly miserable.

"Nothing," she murmured, though her eyes were blank. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all."

There was a crack in her voice and it interested him. What in this world could possibly effect his seductress queen in her tower of ice?

"What did it say?" he asked in a low voice, moving towards her.

"Oh, nothing important really," she said and laughed, sounding broken and desperate. "Just a bit of bad news."

She began to scrape up the fallen letters as she spoke, frantically smoothing the dented edges of the packages as she murmured nonsensical apologies. Carefully, Lucien prized the letter from her hand and began to read.

* * *

_H,_

_Things are finally going well. We've encountered some small losses along the way, but such is the price of any war. Traven was a fool to call us out. Though I have hope. M mentioned my running the Mages Guild myself once this bloody stupid affair is over. I'm certain you and I will make--_

_**H,**_

_**I wish I wasn't the one to tell you this, I really do. But I know how close you and Falcar were and I think it's best that you know. Traven orchestrated an attack on our safe house the day before we would have moved to the main. Falcar, being one of our strongest mages, was naturally sent to the front. I'm sorry to say, he did not return. **_

_**They had a contingency of battle mages waiting outside, and once we'd come into the open, we found ourselves surrounded. We held our own for the better part of an hour but someone got off a paralysis between shields and he was taken. By the time we found him, he was damaged past repair. I'm sorry. I truly am. I'm not sure what more I can tell you. Just know that he died well, and that his last thoughts were of you.**_

_**C **_

* * *

Oh… Well, that certainly made everything a bit… clearer. 


	31. Chapter Thirty One

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

"Hanarai?"

Lucien turned to find her sitting on the remnants of the bed, letters in her lap, staring blankly into space.

"How close?" he asked, a certain venom in his words he'd never meant to put there. "Another of your _friends?"_

She nodded, still staring hard into nothing.

"This is the necromancer friend you mentioned?" he pressed, tossing the letter down to sit with the others.

"It's funny," she said, but her voice was hollow. "He said he loved me."

Lucien felt vaguely betrayed and oddly satisfied the man was dead.

"No doubt you returned the sentiment," he snapped, collecting his clothes.

He'd known it wasn't serious between them. But hell, they had fun, didn't they? The least she could do was keep from falling in _love_ with another man in the middle of their… He faltered, suddenly wondering _their what?_

"He made me laugh." Slowly, Hanarai began to put the letters into one of her bags. "He was very clever. We had intelligent conversations."

Lucien laughed. It was cruel of him, but his pride stung something fierce.

"Then why pray tell, if he was so perfect, were you not with _him_?"

Any other day, any other time, Hanarai would have blown him to bits for saying such a thing. Except today, just now, she was wondering the same thing. Without a word she rose and began to dress mindlessly. Binder-corset, Modryn's tunic, a pair of soft gray breeches… Falcar would have approved.

"Where are you going?" Lucien asked, voice still edged.

"Have to go see if he's home," she murmured, picking up a bag from the floor. "I need to talk to him."

"Hanarai, he's _dead_." The anger fled him then, leaving him cold and bereft, watching his beautiful woman as she lost her mind.

But Hanarai only smiled vaguely in his direction, said something that sounded like, "_Telvanni_," and swept from the room.

There was a bright side to this, he decided, watching the door long after it'd closed behind her. As far as he could see, he was suddenly the most eligible man to _console_ her in her grief.

* * *

Hanarai slipped out of the inn in a daze, watching the crowd as it bubbled around her and somewhere, in the still functioning regions of her mind, she realized she was intensely _jealous._ All these people milling about, walking together hand in hand, in love…

_Love._

She could have loved him. He was brilliant, attractive, with a wicked, almost Telvanni sense of humor. He was always sweet to her and he cuddled so nicely. She could have loved him. If nothing else, she could have spent a few decades at his side. Together they could have… could have done _anything_. He was Mannimarco's favorite, after all. The power that came with that…

And now he was dead.

Hanarai pulled up the hood of her cloak and pressed into the surge of people, ignoring their laughter and happiness. She had made Falcar very aware exactly how Telvanni she was on numerous occasions. He'd caught her having a lovely discussion with her favorite aunt once. She'd been a vicious, cold woman, but had unfortunately met her match one day and lost an argument. The look on Falcar's face when he walked into his quarters to find a ghost and his lover conversing on how well he'd satisfied her the night before…

A fond smile curled at the corner of her lips as Hanarai stepped inside the Mages Guild.

_He'll be here,_ she told herself, ignoring that bloody Argonian with her sad, knowing smile and simply pushing her way down the stairs.

He'd know to wait for her. Falcar was the sort of mer to relay his last words himself. He'd be here. Of course he'd be here. There was nothing left on Nirn to pry him away.

Hanarai stopped, staring around his empty room.

He wasn't here.

Slowly, she moved to his dresser. The first and second drawers were empty but the third… Hanarai pulled a robe from the drawer and moved in a dream to sit on the edge of the bed, cloth held to her face.

_I could have loved you…_

From above, there was a sudden, violent commotion. Hanarai ignored it, tucking inside a silence spell as she breathed in Falcar's sent.

She was a hundred different things in that instant, all of them horrible. And yet somehow… somehow she couldn't cry.

* * *

Gaenor grinned up at the Altmer sitting at the bar next to him. He'd had a few pints, true. And he was fairly certain no one's face was supposed to _warble_ like that. But she was very nice. Almost pretty if you squinted at her a certain way in the right light. And so _interested_ in him. It was refreshing to talk to a woman who had more on her mind than the state of her clothing and the size of her tree.

"No, it's enchanted, see," he said, tapping the face of his special compass. "Points t' my lady at—" and here he paused to hiccup, "All the time. So's I can follow her everywhere, giver her mail."

He grinned in what he hoped was a charming way, slicked his brown hair back and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"She gets a lot of mail."

And then, because mail sounded just like male, which Hanarai also had lots of, Gaenor giggled.

* * *

Hanarai made her way upstairs, watching impassivly as the mages guild members scampered about.

_Serves you right…_ she thought vaguely and paused, listening to them ramble on.

"It shouldn't be possible to open a stable gate for that long!" the Argonian rasped, incomprehensible through her thickening accent.

"Something has to be anchoring it. That's the only way," said a simpering excuse for an Altmer. "If we can just find that…"

Anchors…

The bright spark that was her spirit woke a little from its death fog. Anchors were generally either powerful people or very important _things_.

And very important things happened to make wonderful collections. Maybe if she were to acquire something interesting, Falcar would _have_ to come visit. Or else she'd have more than an old robe to remember him by. And if it should happen to be a pretty stone anchoring that Oblivion gate… well, that would certainly cheer her up. She didn't have an Oblivion gem, after all.

* * *

Gaenor woke up with a splitting headache, slumped in the shadows of an alleyway. He'd… he'd been… he couldn't remember what he'd been doing, actually, but he had a hell of a splitting headache and he vaguely remembered something about an odd Altmer woman with a strange face.

Automatically, he patted his pockets, checking for the important things. Money, bag, letters, ribbon, ring, compass… compass?

Oh _shit_.

* * *

When she emerged, there wasn't a lover on the street to be found. Petty as it was, Hanarai still smirked and made her way outside the city gates. She could see a great, bubbling black cloud in the distance hovering over oddly lit trees.

That smirk grew into a satisfied sort of smile. It probably _was_ a stone anchoring that gate as important people rarely had the undivided attention needed to keep any sort of gate open that large, that strong, that unwavering. No doubt it'd be beautiful. Clear, perhaps, but with a fire burning in the center. Her brother wouldn't be able to compare, not with his ebony mine and hoard of boring weapons. Maybe it'd even be like Azura's star. She was technically a Daedra lord, after all. Maybe whatever was holding down the gate was something clever like that.

Falcar's death was still a great, painful gash but with the promise of a pretty bauble to cheer her, it was pressed to the back of her mind. After all, the mer certainly wouldn't begrudge her her happiness. Especially not when they'd been so _close_.

With a determinedly cheerful smile, Hanarai set off towards the storm.

* * *

He'd meant to go back up to Farragut and get his things in order. But halfway to the gates, the rumor flying around had suddenly sunk in.

There was an Oblivion gate outside the city. Every few hours, they said, a hoard of daedra would pass through to rampage around the countryside. And Hanarai…

In his experience, Telvanni were rather too fond of their daedra. And an upset, _mourning_ Telvanni… Lucien swore, feeling his emotions twist. Hanarai was not his problem. He wasn't going to follow her around like a lost dog and he _certainly_ wasn't going to protect her. She was an accomplished mage. She could handle herself. Besides, it wasn't as though she'd be stupid enough to go _into_ the gate. No one could possibly be that blatantly idiotic.

Invisible, Lucien paused in the middle of the street to run a hand through dark hair, searching the faces of people as they passed him.

Hanarai was probably perfectly safe, curled up in Falcar's bed, talking to his ghost.

Or else she was off picking flowers in the graveyard or something else equally odd. There was no way she'd go through an oblivion gate. Absolutely no way in hell.

…right?

* * *

Oh, it bloody well figured. She came to an Oblivion gate to get a pretty rock and maybe a new pet Xivilai and here was that damned Indarys boy. Bloody hell.

"My lady!" he cried, startled out of checking his armor. "This is no place for a woman such as yourself."

She fixed him with _the look_ and strode past. Falcar—her favorite—was dead, after all and so she had _no_ patience for this sort of thing today.

"_Hanarai_!" he scrambled forward when she failed to stop and acknowledge him. "My lady, you look distraught. And without your nefarious guard. Did he injure you? Did he—?"

Hanarai stopped and turned with her very sweetest smile, stopping his thought process dead.

"Farwil," she crooned, stroking a finger along his jaw. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything!" he stumbled over himself to say it, his hands shaking badly. "Whatever you like, my love."

"Really?" she purred, leaning closer, watching as his pulse increased.

"Of… Of course. Anything. Anything! J… Just ask!"

She smiled, her lips nearly touching his.

"Be silent."

And then, striding past his small group of knights, she stepped into the gate.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Lucien stopped outside the open door of a tavern, listening to the guard speaking inside.

"Swear, that lady must be as crazy as he is. That Indarys boy was all ready to go inside an' _close the gate for the free peoples of Tamriel, huzzah!_" he snorted at his own impersonation, accompanied by a few of the patrons before continuing his tale. "An' that lady just flew on past him. Saw it myself. I swear, them Dunmers are as crazy as they come."

Lucien froze upon hearing that, a strange, cold panic settling into the pit of his stomach.

"She is not that stupid," he swore to himself, turning to stride for the Mages Guild. "She cannot possibly be that stupid."

And yet a bloody minded little voice whispered in the back of his head, "_Oh really?"

* * *

_

Hanarai surveyed the landscape sprawled before her. Farwil and his men lay in a pile to her left, all of them paralyzed and stacked neatly one on top of the other. A smattering of imps lay tossed over the ground, the necks snapped at awkward, unlivable angles. From the more obliging harrada bushes to her right, a dremora was staring at her with soulful brown eyes, utterly in lust at her display of total, wicked power.

Smiling to herself, she pulled a knife and a brown bag from the pack on her back. There were far too many unusual ingredients here to pass up.

And maybe if she could find a way to cool a bit of that lava… my, that would have interesting alchemedical properties, wouldn't it? Maybe it'd even make Sinderion's Elixir of Exploration work properly.

Shooting a wicked smirk at the daedra in the harrada bushes, Hanarai drug him out with a sideways telekinesis and set about stripping the bush.

* * *

Good gods, she was _that_ stupid.

The Argonian said she'd come and gone—describing the look on her face as she left. And Lucien knew her well enough to know her _plotting_ look when he heard it. Hanarai had left planning to storm the personal playground of a daedric prince and… and he couldn't even begin to fathom _why_ in the hell she'd want to in the first place.

"Damn you, woman," he hissed to himself, pressing through the city gates and out into the ash storm. "You're far more trouble than your worth."

* * *

Apparently gray-blue skin and a proper show of power could make any daedra drool. Hanarai laughed and sat down on the edge of the bridge, comfortably warm here by the lava. This was nice, she decided, watching the dozen or so dremora she'd harassed into harvesting every plant for her. Father's guard-dremora had always been fond of a strong, powerful woman, but before today she'd simply suspected it was the sort of thing that comes from being the pet of a Telvanni. They'd have to like something, or they'd spend the rest of their miserable, unnatural lives alone and…

And wasn't she the same way?

Irritated with herself, Hanarai rose and took her ingredients from the dremora before turning to look at the biggest, glowing tower. It was, as far as she could tell, powering this little world.

_If I were a gate key…_

Casting her strongest levitation spell, Hanarai shouldered her pack and flew for the tower.

* * *

Lucien arrived at the portal just as it was beginning to shake and spit fire. Bits of the frame were crumpling to the ground in large chunks and the two horses outside fled at the ear-bleeding _scream_ it let out as it crumpled in on itself.

_She's dead. _

Something in Lucien snapped at those two words as the scream finally stopped.

_She's joined her necromancer…_

Hanarai had… gone in to die. He went cold staring at that wreckage, feeling strangely as though he were a million miles away.

_Hanarai…_

And then the wreckage coughed.

It was a great, Nordic _whooping_ cough, followed shortly after by muffled Dunmeri cursing and a muffled, "_You idiot! Why in the hell did you _follow_ her!"_

Relief crashed into him in a wave and Lucien laughed. Laughed at his thinking she'd killed herself, laughed at himself for caring, for seeing this as more than a game, for not _trusting_ Hanarai's innate sense of the Telvanni, for ever thinking that _he_ would have to protect _her_.

But, because _thank the gods you're alive_ was not an appropriately scathing response, Lucien slipped into a smirk and strolled forward just as Hanarai emerged from the wreckage, covered from head to toe in gray, clinging ash.

"And here I almost though you my intellectual equal," he purred, offering her a hand. "My mistake."

She smiled wolfishly as she took it and froze his fingers together.

"Don't worry, dear," she said, the epitome of kindness, a strange, glowing orb tucked under her arm. "We can't all be women."

* * *

"Clilias?" Vicente purred, sprawled half-naked over the rumpled bed sheets. "Where are you going?"

Aggravated, exhausted and fairly certain she'd ingested some sort of aphrodisiac in the last hour, Clilias spun to fix him with her very worst glare.

"Unlike some people, _I_ have contracts to fulfill. And as much as I'd love to lounge around in bed for a week solid with an insatiable vampire, I cannot."

But Vicente only continued to look at her with that damned cat-grin of his.

"Which contract, sweetheart?"

"That stupid dinner party thing Lachance gave you last Mondas. You bloody well know which one. You complained about it for two days straight."

"Mmm…" His smirk curled a little farther, eyes raking her form. "And you're wearing that?"

Clilias looked down, suddenly nervous that she'd forgot an important buckle somewhere and bits of her were hanging out.

"What's wrong with this? There's nothing wrong with this!"

"You don't think the guests will… suspect?" he purred, slinking from the bed to prowl towards her. "Everyone there in their finest silks and you in blood stained leather?"

It was very hard to form a coherent thought when he looked at her like that, eyes flashing over that damned beautiful smirk. But, being the brave person that she was, Clilias plowed ahead anyway.

"I sincerely doubt they will notice," she snapped. Or rather _meant _to snap. Because Vicente's eyes had not once left her and those long, clever fingers were suddenly untying her carefully buckled straps and just at the moment all she could manage was a meek, "They'll notice?"

"Oh yes," he chuckled, eyes alight. "They'll notice."

"I'm going to be late," she protested in a flyaway breath, Vicente stealing her last coherent thought with a gentle nip to her suddenly bare neck.

"Really?" he purred. "What a tragedy."

"Lucien will be upset with me."

"I sincerely doubt Lucien has left his bed this week either. He's got a Telvanni to amuse, after all."

"But—" and here she gasped as Vicente had managed to remove the entire front section. "But what if the guests leave?"

"They won't leave," he replied, and she could feel that smirk against her bare skin.

"They might. They won't wait forever, Vicente."

"They'll simply start… looking without you. And besides," he said, pulling away to look her in the eyes, still smirking. "You haven't said your goodbyes."

* * *

"And why do you need this… Silencer person?" Hanarai asked, lounging naked in the middle of Lucien's bed. "You're capable of killing your own silly little humans, aren't you?"

He sighed raggedly and ran a hand through his hair, trying to concentrate on the letter at hand. But he was finding it increasingly hard to _think_ let alone form a sentence knowing a gorgeous specimen of a Telvanni was _naked_ in _his_ bed waiting for _him_ to return to it.

"I need someone to keep track of me so that… my superiors do not believe I'm the one slaughtering the Black Hand."

Hanarai fixed him with one of her _You're An Idiot_ stares and leaned back against the headboard.

"I'm watching you, am I not?"

"You're not a member of the Brotherhood, darling."

Hanarai frowned, counting the stones in the wall of his sad little fort, not quite certain what Lucien would see in a boring little Imperial. They were all so… _similar_. None of them had any _shape_ to speak of. Certainly not proper curves anyway. Not to mention their plain, dull looks. She'd never once seen a pretty Imperial. Handsome, yes. And there were a few she would even consider _attractive_, but _pretty_?

"And this little girl…?" she pried carefully.

"She's not a _girl_, Hanarai. She's a grown woman capable of taking care of herself."

And him as well, probably, she decided and crossed her arms, wondering if this boring little wretch was Lucien's _favorite_. The thought brought to mind the scent of fresh turned earth, rain and a certain cologne so strongly it almost brought tears to her eyes. She didn't have a favorite any more, did she?

At her sudden silence, Lucien turned to glance over, startled to find Hanarai looking so _upset_.

"Does it bother you so much?" he purred, secretly pleased that the thought of his associating with another woman would upset her. "If you can't stand the idea, I suppose I _could_ find someone else."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hanarai asked, meeting his eyes with a silken smirk. "I'm afraid I was thinking of Falcar again."

Lucien laughed easily, feeling his stomach twist in an intense hatred behind the mask. Gods above, if Falcar weren't already dead...


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Clilias hated parties. She never had any luck at all at parties. Invariably something important always broke, or got burned or stained or some combination of the three. And since when did stupid Imperials bleed so damned much anyway?

Glaring at life in general, she slipped past the city guard and down into the well. She was going to have a nice, _solitary_ bath, perhaps read a nice, comforting book _alone_, before settling in to make a nice, tasty supper _for one_.

Because if Vicente didn't let her alone long enough to breathe, she was going to gnaw his arm off… or something equally unpleasant.

"Welcome home," the vampire purred, rising from his seat at the table. "There's a letter for you."

"From who?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Lachance, of course."

"_Of course_," she snapped back. "What do you mean _of course_? I have _family_, Vicente."

"Family who would send letters to the sanctuary?" he laughed and reached out to take her arm, meaning to invite her into bed. But Clilias jerked away glaring, a ripple of magic in the palms of her hands.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

Vicente frowned, drawing forward.

"Is everything well with you?"

She took a deep breath and pinched her nose.

"Vicente, you have barely let me alone all week. I would like to bathe _alone_ and then I'd like to read _alone_ and then I'll want to eat _alone_."

His shoulders sank a little and the look in those eyes was pathetic.

"Have I offended you, love?"

Clilias smiled sweetly.

"Vicente, I swear if you don't get your ancient ass out of this room I am going to set it on fire."

Not really sure what it was he had done to anger her, Vicente quietly fled the room.

_His_ room, he noticed mournfully, staring at the locked door. _His_ room, with _his_ lover in _his_ nice, hot bath, reading _his_ books without _him_.

Life was the epitome of cruelty.

* * *

Clilias scowled at the letter in her hands. Stupid Lachance, sending her to more places when all she wanted to do was have a bath and go to sleep. What was so important that she needed to go up to his daft old fort anyway? Why couldn't he come down _here_ to talk? What in the hell made him so special?

Wadding the note up as tightly as she could, Clilias threw it across the room. It landed in the rungs of the ladder, a bent edge catching in the ropes. Pleased with this, the woman couldn't help but smirk from her bath.

* * *

An hour later, Vicente found himself totally fed up with the moaning, groaning and constant complaints of the sanctuary. He was going back to his room, by the gods and there wasn't a thing in the world going to stop him.

…except perhaps the threat of an enraged Clilias. That could be a bit of a problem, actually. As he'd become so damn _addicted_ lately, and if, for any reason, she should decide _not_ to share…

"Clilias?" he asked carefully, opening the door a crack. "May I come in, darling?"

* * *

"Bloody stupid Vicente," Clilias grumbled, hiking up the huge hill. "Bloody stupid Lucien, ordering me here. Bloody stupid hill, _existing_. Why the hell do I have to come up here anyway?"

She stopped at the top to catch her breath, looking around at the ruins of the fort. There was supposed to be a tree. Vicente had _promised_ her there'd be a tree.

So where was the stupid tree?

Glaring, she marched into the ruins of the fort and looked around, spotting _a_ tree from a gap in the wall.

"Better be _the_ tree," she muttered to herself, hiking over the fallen debris. "If it isn't, I'm going home."

The first thing Clilias noticed upon dropping into the room was Dunmer lounging in her Speaker's bed. Were she feeling poetic, the girl would have described her as being _as beautiful as she was irritated_. As she wasn't feeling poetic, descriptions generally contained the words _ice_ and _bitch_.

"So this is your little pet?" she asked before Lucien could rise from his desk, eyeing Clilias with a book held open in one hand. "She's certainly not much to look at."

Clilias glared, opening her mouth to come up with a scathing retort. But she was far too tired and totally unprepared for this sort of argument and so Hanarai simply smiled sweetly with a lift of a single brow.

"Forgive my companion," Lucien said smoothly as he rose from his desk. "We suspect she was raised by wolves."

"And this from a man who hasn't shaved in a week," Hanarai chirped without delay, never appearing to turn from her book.

Lucien ignored her, gracing Clilias with his most charming smile.

"No doubt you're wondering why you're here?" he purred, slipping around her to steal a bottle of wine from the shelf.

Clilias nodded silently, willing Lachance to hurry up and get this conversation _over_ with before she attempted to strangle his lover.

"With the completion of your last contract, you've proved yourself capable of handling most anything. And I find myself in need of such… talent."

"Am I being promoted?" she asked with a flicker of interest.

From her spot on the bed, Hanarai snorted.

"Such razor _wit_, you have," she murmured in the sort of voice that obliged a listener to lean close, a smart little smirk twisting at the very corners of her mouth. "It's no wonder Lucien's infatuated with you. Finally, an intellectual equal."

"Hanarai," he snapped, quickly losing patience with her.

"Oh, don't mind me," she purred with a sweet smile. "I'm simply waiting to see your wonderful conversational skills in action."

"Darling, I know it's hard for you," he smirked, matching her perfectly. "But you really _must_ learn to keep your mouth _closed_."

"Ah," Hanarai leaned back with a grin. "That explains it then."

"Explains what?" Clilias snapped. She'd had about enough of this woman and they'd barely even met.

"Oh, nothing." She turned back to her book with an offhand wave.

"I'm promoting you to Silencer," Lucien jumped in before Clilias could dive for Hanarai's throat. "You will function as my… personal assassin."

"Is that what you little Imperials call it now?" Hanarai murmured, engrossed in her book. "How quaint."

"You will report directly to me for assignment," Lucien continued, ignoring her completely. "If you believe yourself up to it, I have one for you now. Though I warn you, I am quite… demanding."

"I don't know what Vicente's been telling you," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "But I am more than competent, thank you."

"Oh, yes," Hanarai laughed. "In fact, she's finally learned how to hold a shovel properly. Isn't that wonderful, Lucien?"

Clilias froze, a fierce coil of hatred winding up from the bowels of her stomach. There was no way in hell this ice bitch of a woman was a member of the Brotherhood. So for her to be here, for her to _know _how she had killed her first man…

"Tell me," Lucien cut in, once again defusing a potentially dangerous situation. "Have you heard of a man by the name of Adamas Philida?"

* * *

"The _nerve_ of that woman!" Clilias railed, glaring at the room in general from her seat on Vicente's bed. "Why she was even _there_ in the first place is beyond me. But to sit there and _comment _like that. Argh!"

Vicente failed for the night the moment he didn't jump in to agree.

"_What_?" she snapped and sat up, recognizing his _thinking_ silence.

"A Dunmer woman, you say?"

"Yes, Dunmer. Ice bitch Ashlander, probably. Gods, if I could have, I'd have beaten her into a paste with that damned book of hers."

"Red hair?" he asked, remembering the woman Lucien had described to him.

"Yes," she snapped irritably. "Why? You'd rather I were _fat_ with lava hair rather than a nice, normal brown? I bet she dies it that color."

"It's best that you didn't attempt to beat her into a paste, actually," Vicente smiled, though the tension between his eyes remained. "She's a Telvanni. That woman could have killed you with a thought."

"So you're saying I'm not competent," she insisted mulishly, crossing her arms. "You're saying I'm a stupid little toad without enough intelligence to kill a bug let alone—"

Vicente silenced her with a kiss and an aggravated look, coming to sit down on the bed next to her.

"I never said anything like that. I simply implied you are entirely naive when it comes to Morrowind politics."

"Politics?" she asked, and curled into his lap, still half-sulking. "What do you mean?"

"First rule— never argue with a Telvanni."

Clilias laughed.

"Why's that?"

"They tend to prove their point by killing their opponent. After all, if you're weak enough to die, obviously their argument was the better."

"Is there a second rule?" she asked, grinning.

Slowly, Vicente nodded, a little of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"Yes. Expect no loyalty."

Silence hung between them for a moment before Clilias sat up.

"That woman… She shouldn't have been there, should she?"

Vicente shook his head and rose from the bed.

"No. And that's what bothers me. He's plotting something. I can only hope it's for the Dark Brotherhood, rather than against it." But he shook the thought off a moment later, turning to her with a sleek smile. "Are you hungry, darling?"


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

"He was preoccupied. I thought I could just shoot him and slip off," Clilias shuffled a bit and stopped, remembering that she was supposed to look calm and collected before that bloody Dunmer.

"Preoccupied how?" Lucien growled, crossing his arms.

"Well… It's just that he… he was… engaged in… _recreational activities_ with his guard at the time."

Hanarai laughed, nearly dropping the potion she was working on.

"Because of course his _lover_ wouldn't notice."

Lucien sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning back to pace towards his desk.

"Did you do as I asked though, Silencer?"

"The finger bit?" she nodded. "I put it in the desk. That's where they caught me."

"_And_?"

"And I may have stabbed Lex," she said, counting the stones in the ceiling to keep her hands from twitching. "Which may have increased my bounty."

"Do you have a system for this sort of thing?" Hanarai asked, looking up.

"Yes," Lucien snapped, intensely irritated. "It's called Contacts In The Thieves Guild."

Hanarai rolled her eyes and turned back to her alchemy.

"No wonder Dagon's taking over Cyrodiil. He wouldn't be able to manage in Morrowind."

Lucien pursed his lips, scribbling something down onto a piece of parchment.

"He'd probably get raped by a hoard of Telvanni before he could make it through the portal."

Seeing the look on Hanarai's face, Clilias realized she was in for another lovers' spat. With a sigh, she moved to sit down in the chair beside the bookcase, willing to wait this one out until she got her pay.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Hanarai asked in an oh-so-Telvanni-polite tone.

Lucien chuckled darkly, never looking up.

"Only that in my experience, Telvanni are not exactly… picky in who they _befriend_."

"Well, you don't exactly have experience in that sort of thing, do you, darling?"

"_Experience_, madam?" Lucien snapped, turning.

"I understand that you don't have much _time_ in your line of work, Lucien," Hanarai said innocently. "But honestly, I think _bribing_ women to sleep with you is a bit low."

He laughed, snapping the quill when he squeezed just a little too hard.

"Ah but, _dearest_, you were free."

Oh dear. The pet names had begun. In her corner, Clilias sighed, realizing they fully intended to make a proper argument out of this. She'd be here for hours yet. A pity, really, as Vicente had looked so inviting when she'd dropped in.

"We all have lapses in judgment, sweetheart," Hanarai said coolly, tossing a pinch of firesalts into the pot. "It's _bad taste_ there's no excusing."

"Funny _you_ of all people should mention it, _dear_."

A smirk twisted at her lips as she shrugged.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Lucien. I understand you're getting older. I'm sure you were quite the terror in your youth."

"Age and _experience_, love."

"Experience?" she laughed. "Really, it seems to me the only thing you've _experienced_ is one too many pies."

Lucien grinned at her wolfishly, a wicked glint to his eyes.

"You must excuse me. I haven't had time enough to _experience_ the whole of Cyrodill yet. Though I understand Morrowind is larger. It must have been _quite _the accomplishment for you, sweetheart."

"Hmm… A pity you didn't try harder in your youth," Hanarai smiled sweetly, icing the surface of her potion. "You certainly haven't the stamina for it now, have you, my sweet?"

Sensing the fight was quickly growing into an all-nighter, Clilias rose from her seat with a tactful, "If I could have my gold?"

Lucien threw it at her with barely a sideways glace and gratefully, she slipped out into the night, leaving them to their spat. She did _not_ want to be there for the peak of it. Especially as she suspected they were the sort that solved arguments by… _proving_ their respective stamina.

* * *

"I feel bad for him," Lucien said later that night, as they curled exhausted, one into the other. "I don't share his tastes, but I feel almost feel bad for him."

"Who? Philida?" Hanarai yawned and turned, tucking her face into the curve of Lucien's shoulder. "I'm not sure why. It wasn't as though he had much time left."

Lucien frowned into her hair.

"He was fifty-seven, sweetheart."

"Mmhmm. End of his life," she murmured.

"Not quite." Lucien laughed. "He had years left."

"Fifty-seven's not terribly old then?" he could feel her smile curling against his skin. "Oh. I never can keep track of human ages. You all seem to pop up and die so quickly."

"We've seventy odd years," Lucien said, feeling suddenly very old. "It's not so short."

"Darling, I'm three-hundred odd years," she laughed, nuzzling into him. "Seventy years ago I was… I was living in Balmora, I believe. Lovely little town. There was a priest there I had my eye on. But he was such a boring fellow I went off to Gnisis. Fell in with one of the temple Ordinators. Oh, he was _lovely._ So passionate. And he had the most beautiful—"

"Hanarai."

She laughed.

"Does it bother you to hear of other men? You're a fool if you believe there aren't any. Like Gadayn, the idiot little scrib. Do you know he was upset with me because I had too many friends?"

"I can imagine," Lucien murmured. And he really could. Because somehow, the thought of seeing Hanarai—_his_ lover—with anyone else, dropped a cold, burning weight into the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, now don't take _his_ side," she snapped, slapping him lightly. "It's not as though he didn't know about them when he married me. Why, he and Sinderion were even friends. Not _good_ friends, of course. Business associates, I suppose you could call them."

"They weren't _sleeping_ together, were they?" Lucien asked, vaguely disgusted, still thinking about the woman laying next to him and what exactly she meant to him.

"Oh no. Not friends like that." She laughed, kissing the side of his chest. "Don't be silly. Oh, but you know what always irritated me about him? He thought it perfectly acceptable to go off and sleep with that… corpse loving alchemist of his but _I_ was not allowed to visit Falcar."

"He was sleeping with a necromancer too?" Lucien laughed. "You certainly made a pair."

"She wasn't a necromancer," Hanarai said in all seriousness. "She _slept_ with _corpses_. Falcar reanimated them to do his bidding like a proper mage." She sighed then, idly stroking a hand through Lucien's hair. "I miss him."

"You… loved him?" he asked carefully.

"No," she decided after a long moment. "I didn't. But I _could_ have. And the possibility… It's ridiculous really. We'd probably both have hated each other in a few decades. But he was my favorite."

"And now?" he smirked, stroking her hair.

But Hanarai only glared at him.

"It's rude to fish for compliments, Lucien."

"But…" that smirk grew, his arm tightening around her waist.

Hanarai sighed, but there was a hint of humor to it.

"I really don't think it counts when you're the only one I've visited since his death. That's not a really a fair contest, now is it?"

"I never play fair," Lucien growled, rolling over to pin her arms above her head. "And to be completely honest?" he leaned down until their noses nearly touched, his breath running hot across her lips. "I don't share."

* * *

Lucien whistled to himself as he set about poisoning the apples, trap door held wide to air the room. Hanarai had left when he'd begun, saying she'd just as soon go shopping if he were going to stink up the entire fort. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized they were beginning to sound like an old married couple, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. For the first time in a long time, he was _happy_.

"Lachance?"

He paused in his apples to find Ungolim at the ladder. He swore and pulled off his gloves, tossing them aside.

"Not more bad news, I hope," he growled, taking the letters from the Bosmer as he climbed down.

"Contracts, mostly," he said, smoothing back his hair.

"Mostly?" Lucien stopped in his flipping through the contracts. "What do you mean _mostly_?"

"We've still not found Bellamont's… latest."

"She'll be long dead by now," he said with a purse of the lips, striding to drop the contracts onto his desk. "There's nothing we can do but kill _him_."

"We cannot."

"Oh for Sithis' sake, Ungolim!" he snapped. "Give me a reason _why_! Why is it I can kill whoever I damn well please but not the little rat destroying the Family?"

"Because," Ungolim said with a weary sigh. "Arquen is protecting him."


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Clilias muttered to no one in particular as she climbed the hill, praying to any god that would listen Lucien wouldn't start another argument with his wretched lover while she was there.

"Just five minutes," she pleaded, cresting the hill as she headed for the tree. "If you can keep from arguing for five minutes…"

She opened the trap door carefully, and stopped to listen. Nothing. Someone was moving but otherwise all was silent.

Assuming her five minutes had begun, Clilias scrambled to duck down into the fort.

"I've a rather more complicated contract for you if you're up to it," Lucien said without ever glancing up.

"Of course I am," she snapped, rather tired of his same old script. "Would I have come for cake?"

From her spot on the bed—reading, as always—Hanarai smiled but said nothing. Clilias let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The five minutes had indeed begun.

Lucien smiled slightly at her answer, rifling through his papers before pulling one free.

"Your target is a necromancer by the name of Celadaen. He's begun the process of turning into a lich. You will—"

"Celadaen?" Hanarai looked up, suddenly intrigued. "Who wants him dead?"

Lucien fixed her with a _look_.

"He's almost a lich, darling. I, for one, would rather not deal with that."

"Don't be silly, Lucien," Hanarai snapped, getting up. "Celdaen is a sweetheart."

"Oh?" he asked, arching a brow. "Another of your _friends_?"

"Not my type, actually. He was never very clever, obviously. But he and Falcar were friends. I'd like to speak with him. Where is he?"

"No, Hanarai."

"Why not?" she glared, crossing her arms. "I fail to see why she can't hold off a week. I'm sure she'll find _something_ to occupy her time."

"No." He gave her a frustrated _we'll have this argument later_ look and turned back to Clilias. "You'll find him in Leafrot Cave east of Bravil at the end of the Panther River. I recommend you don't confront him directly. Wait until he sleeps, perhaps."

"_Lucien_," Hanarai snapped, sweeping her hair from her eyes in a sharp, frustrated gesture. "I would like to speak with him."

"This is _business_, Hanarai. The contact is _set_."

Realizing her five minutes were up and had probably _been_ up, Clilias took her contract and fled. Let them shout for hours. She had work to do.

"So postpone it!" Hanarai glared at him, completely unaffected by the warning glint in his eyes and the subtle tension in his jaw.

"I will not," he spat. "I refuse to compromise the Dark Brotherhood for one of your _whims_, Hanarai."

"_Whims_?" something fiercely cold and _very_ Telvanni dropped into her eyes. "Celdaen sat with Falcar as he _died_, Lucien. I would know his last words!"

"The last words of a man you didn't love? _Can_ you love, I wonder? Such a feat would imply you have a heart."

Hanarai laughed.

"You know it's really no wonder your members are being picked off," she quipped cheerfully, moving to collect her potions from the table. "This brotherhood of yours is so _disorganized_, so… helpless. You've no authority at all."

"And what do you know of _authority?_" he growled, his last scrap of control breaking. "You know nothing of the trials—"

"Trials, Lucien?" she laughed. "Answer me this, why does it take ten men to run your Dark Brotherhood into the ground when Eno runs things beautifully on his own."

"Eno?" Lucien's head whipped around, a brilliant anger in his eyes. "_Eno_ _Hlaalu_?"

She flashed that too sharp smile at him and moved to collect her bags.

"Who else? He's done a wonderful job with the Morag Tong, don't you think? _Legal_ executions, everyone running in perfect harmony. Last we met, he mentioned he'd even managed to crush the Camonna Tong. And here you are, unable to weed out a single traitor."

Lucien felt a ball of fire fall into the pit of his stomach with those words.

_Last we met._

He'd been such an idiot. Sleeping with a member of the Morag Tong. No, not a _member_, a _friend_, a spy. Everything he'd told her, everything she'd seen. Bellamont's sweeping betrayal. Were the Morag Tong to stage an attack, there was barely a chance they'd survive. Not with Kvatch destroyed and their numbers fleeting.

Hanarai laughed at the look on Lucien's face—a brilliant mix of shock, rage and open betrayal.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. He and I had a falling out. I won't tell him how poorly run your dear Brotherhood is. Your secret is perfectly safe with me."

"_Safe?_" he growled, deadly quiet in his anger. "Tell me, did you mourn when Vivec pulled away or did you simply scratch his name from your list?"

Hanarai shrugged, beginning to dress for the road.

"Oh, he's not dead. Eno's far too clever for that."

Looking at her then, Lucien laughed. Laughed at the beautiful ice queen he'd been stupid enough to _trust_, to…

Pure idiocy, all of it. He'd known better than to think of her as anything other than a passing conquest and here it was—his mistake come back to bite him.

"I pity your necromancer," he said at last. "To think, he was stupid enough to believe you loved him."

"Don't dare speak of Falcar to me," Hanarai said quietly, ice in her voice. "You are not so strong as you think, little Imperial, Black Hand or no. I guarantee your whirlwind cannot hold a candle to mine."

"I will speak of what I like here," he snarled. "Welcome to my kingdom, princess."

"Kingdom?" she snorted. "Is that what you call it? It's a _cave_, Lucien. You can hardly call a crumbling, decrepit old fort a _kingdom_. Though, I will admit," she said with a sharp smile, "you match, you and it. Both of you crumbling into old age, remnants of power scattered around you. But sadly, both of you _nothing_ now."

"Nothing, madam?" Lucien laughed, returning to his desk. "Perhaps. But I, at least, am happy. Can you honestly say the same?"

* * *

Happy? Of course she was bloody happy! She had dozens of friends and letters and presents. She'd even had a husband once. What was there to be _unhappy_ about? She had money and pretty clothes. She had her youth and a nice horse. Everything was _perfect_.

Hanarai slid down from her horse upon reaching the Imperial City's stables, still scowling as she forcefully counted her blessings.

Her hair was lovely and her charms unique and well practiced. She had a large collection of soul gems and a few nice artifacts. She had more influence than her stupid brother… or _had_ until Falcar died. She still had enough, though not enough to brag now. She had… she had lots of things. What did Lucien have? A wrecked fort and a dissolving cult? What in the hell did _he_ have to be happy about?

_Nothing_. His life was miserable. He was probably just saying it to get a rise out of her. He wasn't any sort of happy at all.

Satisfied with this analysis, she paid the man enough money to keep her horse, shot a wicked glare at the leering Orc and made her way inside.

Falcar was dead, Voranil was high, so Synderius had _better_ be free.

* * *

He wasn't the same. She noticed it the moment he shot out of the gate. There was no ply for the house's favor, no show. Just him in his raiment, looking fierce and _furious_ as he attacked the new Grand Champion.

They'd been friends, she knew, Synderius and his odd gray Orc. This new fellow must have killed him and somewhere along the line Synderius had become _ruthless_. It was obvious he was still at Gladiator rank only because he had _chosen_ to be.

Somewhere behind and above her the announcer was rambling on about his changed attack strategy and how unusual it was— a Gladiator challenging the Grand Champion. But _damn_ didn't Synderius have the skill for it.

When he fought, it was obvious he was a man with nothing to live for.

Hanarai frowned as he severed the Grand Champion's hand at the wrist, wondering how one man's death could possibly have affected him so much. It had to be more than that. Perhaps… perhaps Kvatch. It was possible he'd lost someone there, wasn't it? He certainly fought like he was alone in the world. A man with a lover didn't attack like that.

Hanarai sighed and stood. It was obvious he was going to win. There was no point in sitting here any longer. She'd wait for him below.

* * *

She paused as she entered the training room. There was a funny little Bosmer woman there already, pacing from one end to another, a heavy war hammer strapped to her back. Owyn was trying in his gruff, useless way to calm her down but this was not a woman who would easily calm.

"He better have won. He _better_ have won. I swear, if he didn't…" she swore, making vague, furious gestures in the air, blond hair uncurling behind her as she paced. "Why the hell is he competing for Grand Champion anyway? I thought he _liked_ Agronak!"

"He's not fighting Agronak," Owyn said bluntly. "He's fighting the new Grand Champion."

"A _new_ one? Oh dear." She stopped long enough to look at him. "Synderius was upset?"

"Kvatch killed him. Agronak losing was the nail in his coffin."

"Kvatch. Why would he be upset about Kvatch? It's just a house. I can build a new one anywhere." And then, as the implications set in. "Oh that stupid, arrogant little fetcher! I _told_ him I was visiting family! Why can he never ask me to _repeat _myself? I bloody well know he's half deaf. I _expect it_! And now he's fighting this stupid little Redguard because he thinks I'm dead? I'll kill him! I swear to gods, I'll—"

She stopped, hearing the wild screams of the crowd above begin.

"That better be him," she muttered, staring at the hall. "That better be him. I'm going to kill whoever comes down that ramp and it _better_ be him."

Watching her, Hanarai felt an odd pang of longing. What would it be like, she wondered, to love someone so fiercely? And then the door opened and under the noise, they could hear heavy, even footsteps padding down the hall.

Synderius was wiping the blood from his eyes as he walked, moving to duck his head into the basin of water without once looking at the small, assembled crowd. Which probably would have been a good idea, as a moment later he was bowled over by a small, angry Bosmer, beating him about the chest in-between furious kisses.

"You _ass!_" she was screaming. "You complete and total _ass_! Why didn't you _tell_ me you hadn't _heard_?"

Hanarai watched Synderius light up, suddenly returning to the cheerful, exuberant mer she'd known. Without a word, he swept the Bosmer into his arms and kissed her with all the passion he possessed.

And it was obvious in that instant just how well they _fit_.

_How romantic…_

Smiling softly, she slipped out before she was seen, walking back down the street to her room at the inn. It was funny how one person could cause such an effect on another, she mused as she walked. Funny that love—and lost love—could change a man. What would it be like to know that somewhere there was a man that loved her like that? What would it be like to _love_ like that?

And as she walked down the street, Synderius and his Bosmer replaying in her mind, Hanarai realized _she_ _wasn't happy._


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

It was odd having Hanarai around so often and then suddenly not having her at all. The last two weeks had been decidedly _empty_ without her here to bother him. He'd expected she'd go speak to her necromancer and return within the week, irritated with him but willing to forgive. The second week, he swore she was just staying away to aggravate him. Well, he'd refused to be aggravated. Let her leave. He didn't care one way or the other—fetching spy.

Except she wasn't a spy. She was simply a beautiful, power hungry woman who had slept with yet another powerful man and gleaned some information from the crossing. When Hanarai said they'd had a falling out, he believed it.

But _trusting_ her was a _bad thing_. Because if he believed her word, he had nothing to be _furious_ with her for. And if he wasn't furious he found that as time passed he… _missed_ her.

There were times he'd look up from his paperwork, about to relay an interesting tidbit he'd found or mention something that'd just come to mind only to find the bed empty and his potions untouched. There were times he'd work long into the night, _knowing _Hanarai would drag him off to bed when she grew tired of waiting, only to wake up with a contact stuck to his cheek, sore from sleeping awkward and bent over.

And now, beginning his third week without Hanarai, Lucien realized he probably shouldn't have chased her off.

A moment later, the trapdoor fell open with a loudmetallic clang and Lucien had to smother a grin.

He'd known she'd come home eventually. They were too much alike to keep apart for too long. He knew she'd be back, to fight if nothing else.

…except she _wasn't_ back.

Where he had expected to see his beautiful Dunmer floating down the ladder, he found a brick of a Bosmer thundering down instead.

"What's happened?" he asked, seeing the look on the man's face.

Ungolim met his eyes, his own blank and cold.

"Shaleez and J'Ghasta are dead."

Lucien looked at him, fear draining like a cold stream into the pit of his stomach. Their best fighters… He swore, turning away to rip a hand through his hair as he paced.

"And where was Arquen?" he demanded, rounding on him. "Sitting like a fat toad in Anvil?"

"There's more," Ungolim said in the same stone voice, arms crossed as he stood at the ladder. "There was a young woman seen leaving J'Ghasta's house. Brown hair. Muttering to herself. Your new Silencer."

Lucien stopped.

"I sent her off to kill a Necromancer. She came back, collected her gold and I haven't seen her since."

"You understand this doesn't look good, Lachance."

Lucien glared at him and cast a soft illusion spell. Suddenly he was shorter, blond and in possession of a fierce pair of blue eyes.

"I _know_, Lucien," Ungolim snapped, slightly unnerved at seeing such a perfect copy of himself. "Where should your Silencer be now?"

"Coming to _me_ for another contract," Lucien snapped, returning to his own face. "But she'll have told Vicente where she's going."

Ungolim smiled then, a bit of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"Wonderful."

* * *

Vicente frowned, glancing between the two of them.

"What do you mean _where is she_?" he asked, torn between frustration and suspicion. "She's out on contract. _Your_ contact."

"No, she isn't," Lucien said with a slow shake of the head. "She comes directly to me for contracts and I haven't seen her in a week."

"Well, that certainly explains a lot," Vicente murmured, turning to stride for his table. "She received this from an messenger in black the day before she left. She mentioned your writing was unusually careless, but thought your Telvanni had you distracted."

He stopped, scanning the letter he had picked up.

"Oh, that little idiot."

* * *

"It's me he wants," Lucien said after they had spread out the names of the dead on Vicente's table. "Nearly every killing _could_ have been my doing. And now he's picking off members of the Black Hand."

"With your Silencer." Ungolim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I almost wish I would have left you unsupervised now."

"Or put his Telvanni in charge of him," Vicente said with a chuckle, earning a glare from Lucien and a vaguely amused glace from Ungolim.

"I haven't the faintest idea where my Telvanni is either, thank you," he snapped. "Though I doubt Bellamont could best her even at her worst."

"The nature of a Telvanni," Ungolim murmured, arranging the names again. "Clilias couldn't possibly have killed Shaleez. That woman is fearless. Besides, there's only one way in and anyone who didn't give the call would be stalked and killed within moments of entering."

"So he's killed a Speaker and his Silencer, roughly in the same instant?" Vicente mused and leaned back. "He'll be headed for another Speaker next. Likely the easiest reached."

"Arquen's on his side," Lucien said, standing. "Hoar-Blood is lurking on his mountain, _not_ a climb I'd make willingly this time of year."

"Banus is still digging out the Kvatch sanctuary," Ungolim added, setting one of the names on fire with a sideways thought. "That place was a maze to begin with. With half the tunnels down, I'm not even certain it's negotiable."

Lucien pursed his lips.

"That leaves Uvani, the arrogant bastard."

"Hopefully he'll be able to protect himself," Ungolim sighed, hunting around for his cloak.

Lucien snorted.

"Hopefully they don't know about the honey."

"Unfortunately, everyone _does_," Vicente said and stood.

But Ungolim shook his head.

"Stay here, Valtieri. Collect the family as they come but make sure no one leaves the sanctuary. Lachance, you and I have a war to fight."

* * *

Hanarai had made up her mind. She wasn't sure she liked the decision she had come to, but it was hers and she was sticking to it. The prospect of love frightened her, to be honest. To stay, to _invest_ in a single man—to risk everything for the hope of a pretty word and a soft look… it was madness. It was like _asking_ to be broken.

But Lucien… Lucien made her happy.

They had proper arguments that ended in wine and sex rather than lonely proven points. He didn't attempt to buy her favor; rather he set up ever more intricate tricks and traps to catch her. He was vastly intelligent in his work and wicked clever when it came to making her laugh. In a night he could be an alchemist, a blacksmith, a mage and a lover and if she were honest, it _thrilled_ her.

He had the qualities she favored in a dozen different men. Even his _voice_ was perfect.

If she were honest—something she made a habit of avoiding—she was in love… and had been for quite awhile.

Lucien made her happy. The little war between them had brightened her days for months now and suddenly her other conquests had fallen gray in comparison. She wanted _him_ and she was going to get _him_ whether _he_ liked it or not.

Hanarai smiled, ignoring the fearful trembling in the pit of her stomach. She was a Telvanni, damnit. Telvanni were _not_ afraid of anything, much less going after what they wanted…

But then, she doubted Telvanni often fell in love.

_Love…_

Why did it have to be an Imperial, she wondered as she slipped from her horse. Why not another Bosmer? Or an Altmer? _Anyone_ who could match her year for year. Lucien, she knew, didn't have long left. Humans never did, whatever the age. By her estimate he had twenty, maybe twenty-five if what he'd said about that Philida man was correct.

Twenty-five was _nothing_. She'd spent twenty-five years in Mournhold, for godssakes. It was a holiday, a honeymoon.

Twenty-five years did not a lifetime make.

But he was hers, damnit. And just at the moment, she'd take what she could get.

* * *

Lucien didn't like these odds. Didn't like them _at all_. Bellamont was a madman but he had killed Shaleez—what he'd considered until now an impossible feat. Arquen, he knew, was a damned powerful mage. And when it came down to it, Lucien knew he'd be hard pressed to kill her. Ungolim could, with a lot of luck and the first shot, but he…

He was fairly certain he was going to die.

Lucien climbed the hill, searching the shadows for Shadowmere's red eyes, finding the deep brown of Hanarai's horse instead. He grinned like a madman and called her name, hearing footsteps in the frost-thick grass ahead.

"Lucien?" she frowned, turning to face him in the darkness, not quite certain what had gotten into him or why he wasn't sulking down below. "What's going on?"

He looked manic as he approached—unshaven, dark circles ringing his eyes, a sort of fear within them.

"I haven't got much time," he said as soon as he could see her properly. "I've only returned for Shadowmere."

"Lucien, what—"

But he drew forward then, and cupping a hand to either side of her face, cut her off with a soul-stealing kiss.

"I may not return," he murmured when they parted, forehead pressed to hers. "But know that I love you."

And with that he was gone, swinging up into Shadowmere's saddle and off down the hill.

"You _ass_," Hanarai whispered as she watched him go, lips trembling, frozen between tears and a smile.

And then she did what any self-respecting Telvanni would do after finding their latest acquisition was about to get itself killed. She cast a spell for flight, murmured the words for invisibility and followed him.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

Ungolim recast his detect life spell, warily eyeing the trees around him waiting for Lucien to show himself. How bloody long did it take to hike up to Farragut, after all? Ah, but there he was, he realized, seeing Shadowmere's shimmering form as she wound between the trees.

There _they_ were, he amended, seeing the second shape hovering in the air some distance behind him. He froze a moment before logic set in. The hoverer was definitely a woman. And Arquen was simply not intelligent enough to manage a levitation spell. In fact, he very much doubted she even knew the motions. It was, after all, a very _Telvanni_ spell.

Which meant that Lucien's Telvanni had followed him.

He smiled slightly, locking eyes with her as the two of them came closer.

And then, he realized, he _knew_ her.

* * *

Hanarai startled slightly, just behind Lucien's left shoulder. It appeared Father had beaten her to the Dark Brotherhood. She recognized the short, stocky little Bosmer as one of his old friends.

Well _damn_.

She met his eyes with pursed lips and a sharp shake of the head.

_Don't tell Lucien._

He smiled back at her, a quick twitch of the lips before nodding to Lucien.

"Are you ready?"

Lucien nodded.

"Always."

_Always_.

Hanarai had to stifle a snort. Lucien certainly didn't _look _ready. He looked like a frightened, sleepless little boy. Glaring now, she flew after them as they galloped for Leyawiin. She'd had quite enough of this foolishness. Dark Brotherhood and procedures be damned, when she found their bloody stupid traitor she was going to tear him to shreds.

After all, he should have known better than to attempt to steal from a Telvanni.

* * *

Ungolim knocked out a particular rhythm on the steel bound wood of Uvani's door before pressing a specialized _unlock_ spell into the frame.

Clever, Hanarai thought, seeing that he'd managed to undo the deadbolts without making a sound. Cleverer still when he signaled for Lucien to wait, holding open the door as though he were inspecting the shadows, allowing her to slip by and into the room.

She floated up to the ceiling, watching from somewhere near the rafters as the rather handsome Dunmer in the next room rose with a ball of fire hidden in the palm of his hand.

"Uvani?" Ungolim called, saving himself a nasty end.

The fireball disappeared, and Hanarai frowned, watching him limp towards the small group. How odd… It was almost as though his left knee wouldn't bend. She'd certainly never heard anything like this from her little murderer. Granted, her little murderer was an idiot, but he should know his own Speaker at least.

"She's been by, I see," Lucien said, frowning as he eyed the man's limp.

"Yours, is she?" Uvani laughed and turned, limping back towards the kitchen. "Should have known. I get word J'Ghasta and Shaleez are dead and not two hours later some idiot girl bursts in, throws a pitcher of boiling _honey_ at me and flees."

Hanarai smiled, watching the charming twitch in Lucien's jaw as he ground his teeth in an effort to keep from killing Uvani. It was a horrible habit of his and she would simply have to break him of it. But watching his muscles play like that…

Ungolim shot her a subtle glance and so she darted off into the kitchen before she'd get into anyone's way. As soon as they were all packed inside, Uvani tossed a purple ball of light onto the ceiling. It shattered there, oozing outward and coating the walls until there was an impenetrable barrier between _them_ and _anyone else_.

A moment later, he was looking at Ungolim with barely veiled suspicion in his eyes. But the mer simply smiled and glanced towards Lucien with a _say nothing_ look. Hanarai smiled. Perhaps this Black Hand was not so incompetent as she'd thought.

"I imagine she thought I was dead," Uvani chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "Lachance isn't known for picking the bright ones, is he?"

Lucien glared at him, twisting one of Hanarai's hair ribbons under the table, gritting his teeth against a self-satisfied laugh.

_If only you knew, you arrogant pig._

So his Silencers since Anara hadn't been exactly up to par. But seeing as how he was about to make a Telvanni his wife… Oh, it would be a bit tricky, he imagined. Hanarai wasn't the sort to keep anyone for very long. But he _wanted_ her, damnit. And there wasn't a woman alive that could resist the full Lachance charm.

Though if there were, Hanarai would be her.

It'd take a bit of wheedling, probably. He'd have to figure out the inner workings of her game, for one. _She_ could assume whichever personality would best please her target, but what sort of man pleased _her_? Power, obviously. But there had to be something else to her little conquests, _something_ to attract her or else she'd have taken up with Farwil, killed his father and assumed control herself.

"We know Arquen and Bellamont are in league together," Ungolim was saying when he finally stopped to listen. "We'll have enough trouble with those two alone. It's the thought of allies that has me worried."

_Allies… _There was a very good possibility he wouldn't get out of this alive. As much as he hated to think about it, Lucien was fairly certain today he would meet his match. Vicente was the only man alive that could beat him at swordplay, but Arquen had, at one point, nearly become Arch-Mage. There was no way in hell he could hope to stand against her with his minor reflections and passable whirlwind.

Hanarai… If there wasn't such a possibility of getting her killed as well, he might have brought her along. Loathsome as the idea of putting her into danger was, they needed all the help they could get here.

"I'm sorry to say I can't help you," Uvani sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My joints are too stiff to wield a blade and I can barely walk on my left leg. If we had _time_, certainly. But they're probably heading after my Silencer as we speak."

"It's possible they're already there," Lucien snapped, aggravated that he was going off to his death and he hadn't even had the time to bed Hanarai properly before he left. "Shaleez and J'Ghasta look almost as though they were killed the same day."

"Definitely Arquen and Bellamont then. Sithis…"

"We'd best be off then," Ungolim said, standing. "Guard yourself."

Uvani laughed at the familiar parting.

"Sithis walks with me."

And as the two men turned to leave, he caught Hanarai's eyes and gestured for her to join him. She frowned and shook her head, pointing at Lucien but he beckoned again, something in his eyes telling her she needed to speak with him.

Slowly, she floated down from the ceiling, shedding her invisibility when she heard the front door shut.

"Yes?" she asked politely, willing him to get it over and done with. Her Imperial was running off to get himself killed and she really couldn't spare the time right now.

"You've a perfect levitation," he said, looking at her with a slight smile. "So I can only assume you're Telvanni. Another of Ungolim's acquaintances?"

"Lucien's lover," she purred, a challenge in her eyes as she sat down at the table across from him.

His eyebrows arched in sudden shock.

"Really?" he asked with a tilt of the head. "I would have never thought him capable."

She smiled, a fond light sparkling in her eyes.

"He'll take a bit of training yet."

Uvani laughed and leaned back.

"I suppose this is why he's not to know you're following."

Hanarai nodded, a soft purse to her lips.

"He'll do something stupid and heroic if he knows."

The man nodded.

"Sounds like Lucien."

"What did you need?" she asked, glancing towards the door. "I'd very much like to be off after them."

"Bellamont's only an Imperial. He has a particular weakness for charm spell of which you are, no doubt, a master. He's rubbish at most magic but strangely good at sapping the strength from anything that moves. Don't, under any circumstances, let him touch you."

Hanarai smiled, deciding she quite liked this man. Going into a fight blind wasn't the sort of thing she made a habit of doing. And if she'd paused in her contemplation of Lucien's bad habits long enough, she'd have realized she was at the distinct disadvantage going up against a mage and a stupid Imperial without knowing a damn thing about them.

Lucien was no good, after all. He had this silly notion that guild workings were _Confidential_ and that the most she could safely hear was who was going to be killed when. As eventually, everyone would know that anyway.

"And this Arquen woman?"

"An Altmer mage. Powerful enough to amaze the mages here, but not up to Telvanni standards by any means. Standard fire, frost and shock weaknesses apply but she, in particular, cannot tolerate the cold."

He smirked then, and leaned back.

"Or, if you've the skill for them, Xivilai. She's _terrified_ of them."

Hanarai grinned, her teeth seeming somehow sharper in the flickering light.

"Oh, I've two Xivilai actually. Not to mention a few Dremora Lords. They're really the sweetest things."

Uvani laughed, eyes glittering.

"You brilliant, beautiful woman. How in Sithis' name did _Lachance_ win you?"

"Luck," she replied with a grin, and cast herself invisible.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

Title: Rather Unexpected

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien x ofc

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Don't own. Obviously.

* * *

If there was one thing in this world that Hanarai would do anything to avoid it was _heights_. It was a ridiculous fear for a Telvanni to have and she'd worked very hard through her childhood to hide it. Oh, it wasn't bad when scaling the levels of a Tel or cheating one's way through her father's maze of a library. _That_ wasn't a particularly frightening height at all. To be honest, she quite liked being a few feet off the ground.

It was the memory of standing silenced at the top of a Tel, looking down at all the tiny people winding their way below and knowing that if her brother found her before his silence spell wore off _she was going to die_.

Hanarai did _not like_ heights. Following the two men up Gnoll mountain she swore _someone _was going to pay for dragging her up here. Now, she didn't _want_ to take it out on Lucien. But if it turned out that Arquen and Bellamont were both sitting cozy in nice, sea level Anvil, _someone_ was going to get beaten into a pulp.

"You know, I remember you. I remember everyone."

Lucien frowned at the voice drifting down from above them. Bellamont. There was no mistaking it.

"You laughed at me," it continued. "You laughed and laughed and laughed. But I'm not crazy. I wouldn't remember if I were crazy, would I?"

He smirked at the irony of it to mask the mad jitters in his stomach. Heavily enchanted as he was, he did _not_ want to do this. Dying really wasn't on his list of things to do today. But Bellamont was after _him_ and as such, _he_ was the only one that could properly distract them.

"Look who's come to join us!" Arquen laughed wickedly, clapping her hands as he crested the peak. "Welcome, Lachance," and then, spotting the invisible Ungolim some twenty feet off, "And you as well, most reverend Listener. You're just in time to see the birth of a new Brotherhood."

Internally, Lucien swore.

He was going to die.

Hanarai watched them approach from behind the tent, masking her own life energy with little difficulty. It wasn't a very hard spell. If she'd have thought of it, she'd have enchanted Lucien when he wasn't looking. But Ungolim… Now she was disappointed with him. As a friend of Father's that was _so_ a spell he should have known.

But she kept her distance nonetheless, watching as Bellamont circled around the paralyzed Nord.

"Look at this, look at this," he purred. "Lachance come to _me_. And here I thought it would be difficult."

Arquen laughed again, cradling a spell in her arms like a child.

"I told you it wouldn't. Lachance is an idiot."

"No effort at all!" Bellamont crowed. "None! A letter to your Sanctuary and your idiot Silencer galloped off to do as _I_ said! _I_'m the Speaker now! And when you're dead, when you're dead, I'll be left. We'll rule this little guild of yours. A new life, Lachance! You stole mine and now I'll have yours!"

"Really?" Lucien purred and loosed the whirlwind he'd been feeding.

It rampaged through the little clearing, startling the spell from Arquen's hands and tearing the tent from its posts and throwing it down the mountain.

"No more games, Mattieu!" she screamed and dodged Ungolim's attack, launching one of her own.

The Bosmer pitched backwards, falling into the whirlwind where he was thrown, unconscious at Lucien's boots. Arquen laughed and turned to face him.

"Oh dear. It seems you're the only one left now. Except for dear Hoar-Blood, of course. But he's a bit… out of sorts at the moment."

"Let me do it, darling," Bellamont pleaded. "I want to cut out his lying tongue."

Lucien didn't wait for him to come any closer. He fired a wicked frost spell into the center of Bellamont's chest and spun away, shooting another at Arquen. But she only laughed and reflected it back at him, sending him sprawling nearly off the edge of the mountain.

And Hanarai was _livid_.

"That wasn't very smart," she said, deadly quiet as she dropped her invisibility.

Arquen spun, startled into fear at the moment. She was the best mage the Dark Brotherhood had—better, some said, than Traven himself. How was it this elf could _hide_ from her so utterly?

"Who the hell are you?" she snapped, backing up a pace, lighting arching between her fingers.

"Me?" Hanarai laughed, pure hatred in her eyes. "Oh, no one important."

And as Bellamont collected himself enough to lunge in her direction, she lashed out with her strongest telekinesis, throwing him from the side of the mountain as easily as a child throwing her toys.

He screamed as he fell, shattered into the sharp slope of the mountain and went silent—the only sound that of the minor rockslide his corpse caused as it fell.

"_Oops_," Hanarai purred. "You should really keep your pets on a tighter leash."

Hoar-Blood was struggling out of his paralysis, Ungolim was beginning to wake, and Lucien had pulled away from the edge of the mountain and moved, invisibly around as she spoke. Bellamont had nearly taken him over as well, flying no more than a few inches from his nose.

"Nice trick, sweetheart," Arquen purred. "But I'm afraid I'm not impressed."

"Shall I try harder then?" she asked sweetly, and with a perfect grin, summoned her two Xilivai.

Lucien swore and lurched away from the beasts as one pulled a _huge_ claymore from his back and turned to attack.

"Oh no, darlings!" Hanarai called. "Just the Altmer, please."

And Lucien watched as they rounded on her, one with a giant hammer, the other with his claymore.

"You little _bitch_," Arquen growled in white-hot anger and fired off her worst spell.

What happened next could not classify as thought. Lucien knew he was warded by a dozen _strong_ enchantments. He knew Hanarai was not expecting the shot. He knew he could _not_ _let that shot hit home._

So Lucien followed instinct and put himself in the way.

Hanarai watched with wide, terrified eyes as Lucien fell sideways into the snow.

_How dare she how dare shehow__**dareshehowdaresheHOWDARESHE!?**_

She lost all control at that point, her eyes flashing a bloody red. She whistled, long and low, stopping the Xilivai in their tracks. Arquen laughed.

"How sweet. You actually think Lucien loves you." She laughed again, cruelty embodied in the sound. "He's a heartless son of a bitch, sweetheart. He _cannot_ love. Oh, but I imagine you _are_ incredibly useful… for the moment. But trust me, when your usefulness wears out—"

"_Shut. Up." _Hanarai growled, hands clenched, power rippling over her closed fists. "Do you really think yourself so powerful? Do you _honestly_ believe you can match me?"

Arquen laughed, but there was a hint of nerves to it now.

"I'm the most powerful mage you'll ever see."

"_Sweetheart,"_ Hanarai purred, fire in her eyes. "I own a _lot_ of mirrors."

And with that, she set Arquen aflame with a fire that could not be put out, tossing off her counterattacks with some small effort. After a moment, the Nord shook off the remnants of his paralysis, but remained where he was. Because Hanarai had set her Xilivai back onto the wreathing Altmer. And while he couldn't be certain, he rather suspected they were feasting on her entrails.

It took a good ten minutes before her screams trailed away into quiet sobs, and from there, silence. Lucien stood, pulling free from the silencing paralysis Arquen had shot at him. Had he not been so heavily enchanted…

But Hanarai, he noticed, was shaking worse than Redmaw as he hid behind his master's legs.

"You're certainly full of surprises, aren't you?" he murmured, pulling her close, her back to his front.

"I thought you were dead," she said, sounding mildly surprised and more than a little relieved.

Lucien chuckled.

"Is that why you're shaking? Darling, I'm touched the thought of my death would affect you so much."

"I'm a Telvanni, sweetheart," she snapped. "I don't care if you're dead or not. But I'm _terrified_ of heights and if you laugh at me, my Xilivai will have at you next."

"Yes, dear," he purred, hiding his smirk in her hair and breathing in the scent of her as a few paces off, Ungolim laughed.

She didn't have to say it. Her actions spoke loudly enough. She hadn't worried about Falcar getting himself killed, after all. She did not stop her drug-addict from drinking himself to death. She didn't care that her boy in the Arena could die at any moment. But gods forbid he go off to his death at the hands of a powerful mage and a madman with only a cantankerous old Bosmer for support.

If that wasn't love, what _was_?

* * *

Clilias dropped down into the sanctuary, only to find Vicente there waiting for her, her last contract in hand, looking _pissed as hell_.

"Why, exactly," he purred in a predatory sort of way, "did you not show this to me?"

"It was… just another contract?" she offered, not sure why she was in trouble, simply knowing that she was.

"A contract with the wrong seal, the wrong writing, contracting the death of a member of the Black Hand."

"Oh." Clilias looked at him with wide eyes, her pack dropping from numb fingers. "Bugger."

* * *

"You there! Halt! You're under arrest!"

It wouldn't be the first time something of the sort had happened to him. It certainly wouldn't be much of a problem. A change of the face and a _you must be mistaken, sir_ usually got him off and on his way within a minute. But as the Chorrol guard charged towards them, Hanarai was overtaken with a fit of giggles, and Lucien knew somewhere in the very core of his being, she'd just won.

"Oh, you think you're clever, do you?" he growled, ignoring the insistent smile that tugged at a corner of his mouth. "Just wait until your aphrodisiac sets in."

"You'll be in jail, Lucien," she laughed, basking in her own cleverness. She'd slipped it in his wine, meaning for it to hit him on the road. But for it to get to him in _prison_. "You won't have anyone to—"

And then she stopped, feeling the telltale heat of her aphrodisiac winding through her, trading rational thought for _there's a nice shady corner over there_.

"You son of a bitch." She tried to make it sound threatening, but she was too aroused and close to laughter to manage. "I cannot believe you switched the wine."

Lucien grinned and graced her with that perfect, lopsided smile.

"I'm sure I mentioned my being a quick study," he said as the guard approached. "Such a pity then you failed to listen."

END


End file.
